V\:^u, 


■ 


DE  QUINCEY'S 
THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


W 


& 


AND 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


Edited 
With  Introduction  and  Notes 

by 
MILTON  HAIGHT  TURK,   Ph.D. 

Professor  of  English  in  Hobart  College 


GINN  &  COMPANY 

BOSTON  •  NEW  YORK   •  CHICAGO   •  LONDON 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


Copyright,  1902,  1905 
Bv   MILTON    HAIGHT  TURK 


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gftt    flttimitum    Dreg* 

1. INN   St   COMPANY  •    PRO- 
PKIIiTORS  •  HUSTON  .  U.S.A. 


SRLF 

URL 


oc( '  *u  hoc 


TO 

CHARLES   DEACON    CREE 

THIS  LITTLE  VOLUME 
IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED 


G/cncairn,  Kilmacolm,  Scotland 
June  27,  Kpoj 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

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PREFACE 

Some  portions  of  this  Introduction  have  been  taken  from 
the  Athenaeum  Press  Selections  from  De  Quincey  ;  many  of  the 
notes  have  also  been  transferred  from  that  volume.  A  num- 
ber of  the  new  notes  I  owe  to  a  review  of  the  Selections  by 
Dr.  Lane  Cooper,  of  Cornell  University.  I  wish  also  to  thank 
for  many  favors  the  Committee  and  officers  of  the  Glasgow 
University  Library. 

If  a  word  by  way  of  suggestion  to  teachers  be  pertinent,  I 
would  venture  to  remark  that  the  object  of  the  teacher  of 
literature  is,  of  course,  only  to  fulfill  the  desire  of  the  author  — 
to  make  clear  his  facts  and  to  bring  home  his  ideas  in  all  their 
power  and  beauty.  Introductions  and  notes  are  only  means  to 
this  end.  Teachers,  I  think,  sometimes  lose  sight  of  this  fact ; 
I  know  it  is  fatally  easy  for  students  to  forget  it.  That  teacher 
will  have  rendered  a  great  service  who  has  kept  his  pupils  alive 
to  the  real  aim  of  their  studies,  —  to  know  the  author,  not  to 
know  of  him.  M   H   T 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION 

Page 

I.    Life vii 

II.    Critical  Remarks x 

III.   Bibliographical  Note xiv 

SELECTIONS 

The  English  Mail-Coach i 

Joan  of  Arc 64 

NOTES 103 


INTRODUCTION 

I.    LIFE 

Thomas  de  Quincey  was  born  in  Manchester  on  the  15  th  of 
August,  1785.  His  father  was  a  man  of  high  character  and 
great  taste  for  literature  as  well  as  a  successful  man  of  business  ; 
he  died,  most  unfortunately,  when  Thomas  was  quite  young. 
Very  soon  after  our  author's  birth  the  family  removed  to  The 
Farm,  and  later  to  Greenhay,  a  larger  country  place  near  Man- 
chester. In  1796  De  Quincey's  mother,  now  for  some  years 
a  widow,  removed  to  Bath  and  placed  him  in  the  grammar 
school  there. 

Thomas,  the  future  opium-eater,  was  a  weak  and  sickly 
child.  His  first  years  were  spent  in  solitude,  and  when  his 
elder  brother,  William,  a  real  boy,  came  home,  the  young 
author  followed  in  humility  mingled  with  terror  the  diversions 
of  that  ingenious  and  pugnacious  "  son  of  eternal  racket." 
De  Quincey's  mother  was  a  woman  of  strong  character  and 
emotions,  as  well  as  excellent  mind,  but  she  was  excessively 
formal,  and  she  seems  to  have  inspired  more  awe  than  affection 
in  her  children,  to  whom  she  was  for  all  that  deeply  devoted. 
Her  notions  of  conduct  in  general  and  of  child  rearing  in 
particular  were  very  strict.  She  took  Thomas  out  of  Bath 
School,  after  three  years'  excellent  work  there,  because  he  was 
too  much  praised,  and  kept  him  for  a  year  at  an  inferior 
school  at  Winkfield  in  Wiltshire. 

In  1800,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  De  Quincey  was  ready  for 
Oxford ;  he  had  not  been  praised  without  reason,  for  his 
scholarship  was  far  in  advance  of  that  of  ordinary  pupils  of  his 
years.    "  That  boy,"  his  master  at  Bath  School  had  said,  "that 


Vlii  INTRODUCTION 

boy  could  harangue  an  Athenian  mob  better  than  you  or  I  could 
address  an  English  one."  He  was  sent  to  Manchester  Grammar 
School,  however,  in  order  that  after  three  years'  stay  he  might 
secure  a  scholarship  at  Brasenose  College,  Oxford.  He  re- 
mained there  —  strongly  protesting  against  a  situation  which 
deprived  him  "  of  health,  of  society,  of  amusement,  of  liberty, 
of  congeniality  of  pursuits'1'1 — for  nineteen  months,  and  then 
ran  away. 

His  first  plan  had  been  to  reach  Wordsworth,  whose  Lyrical 
Ballads  (1798)  had  solaced  him  in  fits  of  melancholy  and 
had  awakened  in  him  a  deep  reverence  for  the  neglected 
poet.  His  timidity  preventing  this,  he  made  his  way  to  Ches- 
ter, where  his  mother  then  lived,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  a 
sister ;  was  apprehended  by  the  older  members  of  the  family ; 
and  through  the  intercession  of  his  uncle,  Colonel  Penson, 
received  the  promise  of  a  guinea  a  week  to  carry  out  his  later 
project  of  a  solitary  tramp  through  Wales.  From  July  to 
November,  1802,  De  Quincey  then  led  a  wayfarer's  life.1  He 
soon  lost  his  guinea,  however,  by  ceasing  to  keep  his  family 
informed  of  his  whereabouts,  and  subsisted  for  a  time  with 
great  difficulty.  Still  apparently  fearing  pursuit,  with  a  little 
borrowed  money  he  broke  away  entirely  from  his  home  by 
exchanging  the  solitude  of  Wales  for  the  greater  wilderness 
of  London.  Failing  there  to  raise  money  on  his  expected 
patrimony,  he  for  some  time  deliberately  clung  to  a  life  of 
degradation  and  starvation  rather  than  return  to  his  lawful 
governors. 

Discovered  by  chance  by  his  friends,  De  Quincey  was 
brought  home  and  finally  allowed  (1803)  to  go  to  Worcester 
College,  Oxford,  on  a  reduced  income.  Here,  we  are  told, 
"  he  came  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  strange  being  who  associated 

1  For  a  most  interesting  account  of  this  period  see  the  Confessions  of 
an  English  Opium- Eater,  Athenx-um  Press  Selections  from  De  Quincey, 
pp.  1 65-1 71,  and  notes. 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

with  no  one."  During  this  time  he  learned  to  take  opium. 
He  left,  apparently  about  1807,  without  a  degree.  In  the  same 
year  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth; 
Lamb  he  had  sought  out  in  London  several  years  before. 

His  acquaintance  with  Wordsworth  led  to  his  settlement  in 
1809  at  Grasmere,  in  the  beautiful  English  Lake  District;  his 
home  for  ten  years  was  Dove  Cottage,  which  Wordsworth  had 
occupied  for  several  years  and  which  is  now  held  in  trust  as  a 
memorial  of  the  poet.  De  Quincey  was  married  in  18 16,  and 
soon  after,  his  patrimony  having  been  exhausted,  he  took  up 
literary  work  in  earnest. 

In  182 1  he  went  to  London  to  dispose  of  some  translations 
from  German  authors,  but  was  persuaded  first  to  write  and 
publish  an  account  of  his  opium  experiences,  which  accord- 
ingly appeared  in  the  London  Magazine  in  that  year.  This 
new  sensation  eclipsed  Lamb's  Essays  of  Elia,  which  were 
appearing  in  the  same  periodical.  The  Confessions  of  an 
English  Opium-Eater  was  forthwith  published  in  book  form. 
De  Quincey  now  made  literary  acquaintances.  Tom  Hood 
found  the  shrinking  author  "  at  home  in  a  German  ocean  of 
literature,  in  a  storm,  flooding  all  the  floor,  the  tables,  and  the 
chairs  —  billows  of  books."  Richard  Woodhouse  speaks  of  the 
"  depth  and  reality  of  his  knowledge.  .  .  .  His  conversation 
appeared  like  the  elaboration  of  a  mine  of  results.  .  .  .  Tay- 
lor led  him  into  political  economy,  into  the  Greek  and  Latin 
accents,  into  antiquities,  Roman  roads,  old  castles,  the  origin 
and  analogy  of  languages ;  upon  all  these  he  was  informed  to 
considerable  minuteness.  The  same  with  regard  to  Shake- 
speare's sonnets,  Spenser's  minor  poems,  and  the  great  writers 
and  characters  of  Elizabeth's  age  and  those  of  Cromwell's 
time." 

From  this  time  on  De  Quincey  maintained  himself  by  con- 
tributing to  various  magazines.  He  soon  exchanged  London 
and  the  Lakes  for  Edinburgh  and  its  suburb,  Lasswade,  where 


x  INTRODUCTION 

the  remainder  of  his  life  was  spent.  Blackwood's  Edinburgh 
Magazine  and  its  rival  Tail's  Magazine  received  a  large  num- 
ber of  contributions.  The  English  Mail- Coach  appeared  in 
1849  in  Blackwood.  Joan  of  Arc  had  already  been  published 
(1847)  in  Tail.  De  Quincey  continued  to  drink  laudanum 
throughout  his  life, —  twice  after  182 1  in  very  great  excess. 
During  his  last  years  he  nearly  completed  a  collected  edition 
of  his  works.  He  died  in  Edinburgh  on  the  8th  of  December, 
1859. 

II.    CRITICAL   REMARKS 

The  Opium-Eater  had  been  a  weak,  lonely,  and  over- 
studious  child,  and  he  was  a  solitary  and  ill-developed  man. 
His  character  and  his  work  present  strange  contradictions. 
He  is  most  precise  in  statement,  yet  often  very  careless  of 
fact ;  he  is  most  courteous  in  manner,  yet  inexcusably  incon- 
siderate in  his  behavior.  Again,  he  sets  up  a  high  standard  of 
purity  of  diction,  yet  uses  slang  quite  unnecessarily  and  inap- 
propriately ;  and  though  a  great  master  of  style,  he  is  guilty, 
at  times,  of  digression  within  digression  until  all  trace  of  the 
original  subject  is  lost. 

De  Quincey  divides  his  writings  into  three  groups  :  first, 
that  class  which  "  proposes  primarily  to  amuse  the  reader,  but 
which,  in  doing  so,  may  or  may  not  happen  occasionally  to 
reach  a  higher  station,  at  which  the  amusement  passes  into 
an  impassioned  interest."  To  this  class  would  belong  the 
Autobiographic  Sketches  and  the  Literary  Reminiscences.  As 
a  second  class  he  groups  "those  papers  which  address  them- 
selves purely  to  the  understanding  as  an  insulated  faculty,  or 
do  so  primarily."  These  essays  would  include,  according  to 
Professor  Masson's  subdivision,  (a)  Biographies,  such  as  Shake- 
speare or  Pope — Joan  of  Arc  falls  here,  yet  has  some  claim 
to  a  place  in  the  first  class  ;  (l>)  Historical  essays,  like  77ie 
Ccesars ;  (c)  Speculative  and  Theological  essays  ;  (d)  Essays  in 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

Political  Economy  and  Politics ;  (e)  Papers  of  Literary  Theory 
and  Criticism,  such  as  the  brilliant  discussions  of  Rhetoric, 
Style,  and  Conversation,  and  the  famous  On  the  Knocking  at 
the  Gate  in  '  Macbeth'  As  a  third  and  "  far  higher  "  class  the 
author  ranks  the  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-Eater,  and 
also  (but  more  emphatically)  the  Suspiria  de  Profundis.  "On 
these,"  he  says,  "as  modes  of  impassioned  prose  ranging  un- 
der no  precedents  that  I  am  aware  of  in  literature,  it  is  much 
more  difficult  to  speak  justly,  whether  in  a  hostile  or  a  friendly 
character." 

Of  De  Quincey's  essays  in  general  it  may  be  said  that  they 
bear  witness  alike  to  the  diversity  of  his  knowledge  and  the 
penetrative  power  of  his  intellect.  The  wide  range  of  his  sub- 
jects, however,  deprives  his  papers  when  taken  together  of  the 
weight  which  might  attach  to  a  series  of  related  discussions. 
And,  remarkable  as  is  De  Quincey's  aptitude  for  analysis  and 
speculation,  more  than  once  we  have  to  regret  the  lack  of 
the  "  saving  common-sense  "  possessed  by  many  far  less  gifted 
men.  His  erudition  and  insight  are  always  a  little  in  advance 
of  his  good  judgment. 

As  to  the  works  of  the  first  class,  the  Reminiscences  are 
defaced  by  the  shrewish  spirit  shown  in  the  accounts  of 
Wordsworth  and  other  friends ;  nor  can  we  depend  upon  them 
as  records  of  fact.  But  our  author  had  had  exceptional  oppor- 
tunities to  observe  these  famous  men  and  women,  and  he  pos- 
sessed no  little  insight  into  literature  and  personality.  As  to 
the  Autobiographic  Sketches,  the  handling  of  events  is  hope- 
lessly arbitrary  and  fragmentary.  In  truth,  De  Quincey  is  draw- 
ing an  idealized  picture  of  childhood,  —  creating  a  type  rather 
than  re-creating  a  person  ;  it  is  a  study  of  a  child  of  talent  that 
we  receive  from  him,  and  as  such  these  sketches  form  one  of 
the  most  satisfactory  products  of  his  pen. 

The  Confessions  as  a  narrative  is  related  to  the  Autobiogra- 
phy, while  its  poetical  passages  range  it  with  the  Suspiria  and 


Xll  INTRODUCTION 

the  Mail-Coach.  De  Quincey  seems  to  have  believed  that  he 
was  creating  in  such  writings  a  new  literary  type  of  prose 
poetry  or  prose  phantasy ;  he  had,  with  his  splendid  dreams 
as  subject-matter,  lifted  prose  to  heights  hitherto  scaled  only 
by  the  poet.  In  reality  his  style  owed  much  to  the  seven- 
teenth-century writers,  such  as  Milton  and  Sir  Thomas  Browne. 
He  took  part  with  Coleridge,  Lamb,  and  others  in  the  general 
revival  of  interest  in  earlier  modern  English  prose,  which  is 
a  feature  of  the  Romantic  Movement.  Still  none  of  his  con- 
temporaries wrote  as  he  did  ;  evidently  De  Quincey  has  a  dis- 
tinct quality  of  his  own.  Ruskin,  in  our  own  day,  is  like  him, 
but  never  the  same. 

Yet  De  Quincey's  prose  poetry  is  a  very  small  portion  of 
his  work,  and  it  is  not  in  this  way  only  that  he  excels.  Mr. 
Saintsbury  has  spoken  of  the  strong  appeal  that  De  Quincey 
makes  to  boys.1  It  is  not  without  significance  that  he  men- 
tions as  especially  attractive  to  the  young  only  writings  with  a 
large  narrative  element.2  Few  boys  read  poetry,  whether  in 
verse  or  prose,  and  fewer  still  criticism  or  philosophy ;  to 
every  normal  boy  the  gate  of  good  literature  is  the  good  story. 
It  is  the  narrative  skill  of  De  Quincey  that  has  secured  for 
him,  in  preference  to  other  writers  of  his  class,  the  favor  of 
youthful  readers. 

It  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  the  talent  that  attracts  the 
young  to  him  must  needs  be  the  Opium-Eater's  grand  talent, 
though  the  notion  is  defensible,  seeing  that  only  salient  quali- 
ties in  good  writing  appeal  to  inexperienced  readers.    I  believe, 

1  "  Probably  more  boys  have  in  the  last  forty  years  been  brought  to 
a  love  of  literature  proper  by  De  Quincey  than  by  any  other  writer 
whatever."  —  History  of  Nineteenth-Century  literature,  p.  198. 

2  "  To  read  the   Essay  on  Murder,    the   English    Mail-Coach,   The 
Spanish  Nun,  The  Cusars,  and  half  a  score  other  things  at  the  age  of 
about  fifteen  or  sixteen  is,  or  ought  to  be,  to  fall  in  love  with  them."- 
Essays  in  English  Literature,  ij8o-fS6o,  p.  307. 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

however,  that  this  skill  in  narration  is  Ue  Quincey's  most 
persistent  quality,  —  the  golden  thread  that  unites  all  his  most 
distinguished  and  most  enduring  work.  And  it  is  with  him  a 
part  of  his  genius  for  style.  Creative  power  of  the  kind  that 
goes  to  the  making  of  plots  De  Quincey  had  not;  he  has 
proved  that  forever  by  the  mediocrity  of  Klosterheim.  Give 
him  Bergmann's  account  of  the  Tartar  Migration,  or  the  story 
of  the  Fighting  Nun,  —  give  him  the  matter,  —  and  a  brilliant 
narrative  will  result.  Indeed,  De  Quincey  loved  a  story  for  its 
own  sake ;  he  rejoiced  to  see  it  extend  its  winding  course 
before  him ;  he  delighted  to  follow  it,  touch  it,  color  it,  see  it 
grow  into  body  and  being  under  his  hand.  That  this  enthusi- 
asm should  now  and  then  tend  to  endanger  the  integrity  of  the 
facts  need  not  surprise  us ;  as  I  have  said  elsewhere,  accuracy 
in  these  matters  is  hardly  to  be  expected  of  De  Quincey.  And 
we  can  take  our  pleasure  in  the  skillful  unfolding  of  the  dra- 
matic narrative  of  the  Tartar  Flight  —  we  can  feel  the  author's 
joy  in  the  scenic  possibilities  of  his  theme  —  even  if  we  know 
that  here  and  there  an  incident  appears  that  is  quite  in  its 
proper  place  —  but  is  unknown  to  history. 

In  his  Confessions  the  same  constructive  power  bears  its 
part  in  the  author's  triumph.  A  peculiar  end  was  to  be 
reached  in  that  narrative,  —  an  end  in  which  the  writer  had 
a  deep  personal  interest.  What  is  an  opium-eater?  Says  a 
character  in  a  recent  work  of  fiction,  of  a  social  wreck:  "If 
it  isn't  whisky  with  him,  it's  opium;  if  it  isn't  opium,  it's 
whisky."  This  speech  establishes  the  popular  category  in 
which  De  Quincey's  habit  had  placed  him.  Our  attention  was 
to  be  drawn  from  these  degrading  connections.  And  this  is 
done  not  merely  by  the  correction  of  some  widespread  falla- 
cies as  to  the  effects  of  the  drug  ;  far  more  it  is  the  result  of 
narrative  skill.  As  we  follow  with  ever-increasing  sympathy 
the  lonely  and  sensitive  child,  the  wandering  youth,  the  neu- 
ralgic patient,  into  the  terrible  grasp  of  opium,  who  realizes, 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

amid  the  gorgeous  delights  and  the  awful  horrors  of  the  tale, 
that  the  writer  is  after  all  the  victim  of  the  worst  of  bad  habits  ? 
We  can  hardly  praise  too  highly  the  art  which  even  as  we  look 
beneath  it  throws  its  glamour  over  us  still. 

Nor  is  it  only  in  this  constructive  power,  in  the  selection 
and  arrangement  of  details,  that  De  Quincey  excels  as  a  nar- 
rator ;  a  score  of  minor  excellences  of  his  style,  such  as  the 
fine  Latin  words  or  the  sweeping  periodic  sentences,  contribute 
to  the  effective  progress  of  his  narrative  prose.  Mr.  Lowell 
has  said  that  "there  are  no  such  vistas  and  avenues  of  verse 
as  Milton's."  The  comparison  is  somewhat  hazardous,  still  I 
should  like  to  venture  the  parallel  claim  that  there  are  no  such 
streams  of  prose  as  De  Quincey's.  The  movement  of  his  dis- 
course is  that  of  the  broad  river,  not  in  its  weight  or  force 
perhaps,  but  in  its  easy  flowing  progress,  in  its  serene,  unhurried 
certainty  of  its  end.  To  be  sure,  only  too  often  the  waters 
overflow  their  banks  and  run  far  afield  in  alien  channels.  Yet, 
when  great  power  over  the  instrument  of  language  is  joined  to 
so  much  constructive  skill,  the  result  is  narrative  art  of  high 
quality,  —  an  achievement  that  must  be  in  no  small  measure 
the  solid  basis  of  De  Quincey's  fame. 

III.    BIBLIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE 
I.  Works 

i.  The  Collected  Writings  of  Thomas  de  Quincey.  New  and 
enlarged  edition  by  David  Masson.  Edinburgh  :  A.  and  C. 
Black,  1 889-1 890.  [New  York:  The  Macmillan  Co.  14 
vols.,  with  footnotes,  a  preface  to  each  volume,  and  index. 
Reissued  in  cheaper  form.    The  standard  edition.] 

2.  The  Works  of  Thomas  de  (Quincey.  Riverside  Edition. 
Boston:  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  1877.  [12  vols.,  with 
notes  and   index.] 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

Selections  from  De  Quincey.  Edited  with  an  Introduction  and 
Notes,  by  M.  H.  Turk.  Athenaeum  Press  Series.  Boston, 
U.S.A.,  and  London:  Ginn  and  Company,  1902.  ["The 
largest  body  of  selections  from  De  Quincey  recently  pub- 
lished. .  .  .  The  selections  are  The  Affliction  of  Child- 
hood, Introduction  to  the  World  of  Strife,  A  Meeting 
with  Lamb,  A  Meeting  with  Coleridge,  Recollections  of 
Wordsworth,  Confessions,  A  Portion  of  Suspiria,  The 
English  Mail-Coach,  Murder  as  one  of  the  Fine  Arts, 
Second  Paper,  foati  of  Arc,  and  On  the  Knocking  at  the 
Gate  in  '  Macbeth?  "] 

II.  Biography  and  Criticism 

D.  Masson.  Thomas  De  Quincey.  English  Men  of  Letters. 
London.  [New  York  :  Harper.  An  excellent  brief  biog- 
raphy. This  book,  with  a  good  volume  of  selections,  should 
go  far  toward  supplying  the  ordinary  student's  needs.] 

H.  S.  Salt.  De  Qui.ncey.  Bell's  Miniature  Series  of  Great 
Writers.  London :  George  Bell  and  Sons.  [A  good  short  life.] 

A.  H.  Japp.  Thomas  De  Quincey :  His  Life  and  Writings. 
London,  1890.  [New  York  :  Scribner.  First  edition  by 
"H.  A.  Page,"  1877.  The  standard  life  of  De  Quincey  ; 
it  contains  valuable  communications  from  De  Quincey's 
daughters,  J.  Hogg,  Rev.  F.  Jacox,  Professor  Masson,  and 
others.] 

A.  H.  Japp.  De  Quincey  Memorials.  Being  Letters  and  Other 
Records,  here  first  published.  With  Comtnunications  from 
Coleridge,  the  Wordsworths,  Hannah  More,  Professor 
Wilson,  and  others.   2  vols.    London  :  W.  Heinemann,  1 891. 

J.  Hogg.  De  Quincey  and  his  Friends,  Personal  Recollec- 
tions, Souvenirs,  and  Anecdotes  [including  Woodhouse's 
Conversations,  Findlay's  Personal  Recollections,  Hodgson's 
On  the  Genius  of  De  Quincey,  and  a  mass  of  personal 
notes  from  a  host  of  friends].  London :  Sampson  Low, 
Marston  &  Co.,  1895. 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

9.  E.  T.  Mason.  Personal  Traits  of  British  Authors.  Nev 
York,  1885.  [4  vols.  The  volume  subtitled  Scott,  Hogg 
etc.,  contains  some  accounts  of  De  Quincey  not  includec 
by  Japp  or  Hogg.] 

10.  L.  Stephen.  Hours  in  a  Library.    Vol.  I.    New  York,  1892 

11.  W.  Minto.  Manual  of  English  Prose  Literature.    Boston 

1889.    [Contains  the  best  general  discussion  of  De  Quin 
cey's  style.] 

12.  L.  Cooper.      The   Prose    Poetry    of   Thomas   De   Quincey 

Leipzig,  1902. 


THE   ENGLISH   MAIL-COACH 

Section  I — The  Glory  of  Motion 

Some  twenty  or  more  years  before  I  matriculated  at 
Oxford,  Mr.  Palmer,  at  that  time  M.P.  for  Bath,  had 
accomplished  two  things,  very  hard  to  do  on  our  little 
planet,  the  Earth,  however  cheap  they  may  be  held  by 
eccentric  people  in  comets :  he  had  invented  mail-coaches,  5 
and  he  had  married  the  daughter  of  a  duke.  He  was, 
therefore,  just  twice  as  great  a  man  as  Galileo,  who  did 
certainly  invent  (or,  which  is  the  same  thing,1  discover) 
the  satellites  of  Jupiter,  those  very  next  things  extant  to 
mail-coaches  in  the  two  capital  pretensions  of  speed  and  10 
keeping  time,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  who  did  not  marry 
the  daughter  of  a  duke. 

These  mail-coaches,  as  organised  by  Mr.  Palmer,  are 
entitled  to  a  circumstantial  notice  from  myself,  having  had 
so  large  a  share  in  developing  the  anarchies  of  my  subse-  15 
quent  dreams:  an  agency  which  they  accomplished,  1st, 
through  velocity  at  that  time  unprecedented  — for  they  first 
revealed  the  glory  of  motion  ;  2dly,  through  grand  effects 
for  the  eye  between  lamplight  and  the  darkness  upon  soli- 
tary roads  ;  3dly,  through  animal  beauty  and  power  so  often  20 
displayed  in  the  class  of  horses  selected  for  this  mail  service; 

1  "  The  same  thing" :  —  Thus,  in  the  calendar  of  the  Church  Festi- 
vals, the  discovery  of  the  true  cross  (by  Helen,  the  mother  of 
Constantine)  is  recorded  (and,  one  might  think,  with  the  express 
consciousness  of  sarcasm)  as  the  Invention  of  the  Cross. 


2  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCEY 

4thly,  through  the  conscious  presence  of  a  central  intellect, 
that,  in  the  midst  of  vast  distances1  —  of  storms,  of  darkness, 
of  danger —  overruled  all  obstacles  into  one  steady  co-opera- 
tion to  a  national  result.  For  my  own  feeling,  this  post-office 
5  service  spoke  as  by  some  mighty  orchestra,  where  a  thousand 
instruments,  all  disregarding  each  other,  and  so  far  in  dan- 
ger of  discord,  yet  all  obedient  as  slaves  to  the  supreme  baton 
of  some  great  leader,  terminate  in  a  perfection  of  harmony 
like  that  of  heart,  brain,  and  lungs  in  a  healthy  animal  organ- 

10  isation.  But,  finally,  that  particular  element  in  this  whole 
combination  which  most  impressed  myself,  and  through 
which  it  is  that  to  this  hour  Mr.  Palmer's  mail-coach  system 
tyrannises  over  my  dreams  by  terror  and  terrific  beauty,  lay 
in  the  awful  political  mission  which  at  that  time  it  fulfilled. 

15  The  mail-coach  it  was  that  distributed  over  the  face  of  the 
land,  like  the  opening  of  apocalyptic  vials,  the  heart-shaking 
news  of  Trafalgar,  of  Salamanca,  of  Vittoria,  of  Waterloo. 
These  were  the  harvests  that,  in  the  grandeur  of  their 
reaping,    redeemed   the    tears    and    blood    in    which    they 

20  had  been  sown.  Neither  was  the  meanest  peasant  so  much 
below  the  grandeur  and  the  sorrow  of  the  times  as  to  con- 
found battles  such  as  these,  which  were  gradually  moulding 
the  destinies  of  Christendom,  with  the  vulgar  conflicts  of 
ordinary  warfare,  so  often  no  more  than  gladiatorial  trials 

25  of  national  prowess.  The  victories  of  England  in  this 
stupendous  contest  rose  of  themselves  as  natural  Te  Deums 
to  heaven;  and  it  was  felt  by  the  thoughtful  that  such 
victories,  at  such  a  crisis  of  general  prostration,  were  not 
more    beneficial    to  ourselves  than   finally  to   France,  our 

30  enemy,  and  to  the  nations  of  all  western  or  central  Europe, 

1  "  I'ust  distatices" : —  One  case  was  familiar  to  mail-coach  travellers 
where  two  mails  in  opposite  directions,  north  and  south,  starting  at 
the  same  minute  from  points  six  hundred  miles  apart,  met  almost  con- 
stantly at  a  particular  bridge  which  bisected  the  total  distance. 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  3 

through  whose  pusillanimity  it  was  that  the  French  domina- 
tion had  prospered. 

The    mail-coach,   as  the   national   organ  for  publishing 
these  mighty  events,  thus  diffusively   influential,   became 
itself  a  spiritualised  and  glorified  object  to  an  impassioned    5 
heart ;  and  naturally,  in  the  Oxford  of  that  day,  all  hearts 
were  impassioned,  as  being  all  (or  nearly  all)  in  early  man- 
hood.    In  most  universities  there  is  one  single  college  ;  in 
Oxford  there  were  five-and-twenty,  all  of  which  were  peopled 
by  young  men,  the  elite  of  their  own  generation  ;  not  boys,  10 
but  men  :    none  under  eighteen.     In  some  of  these  many 
colleges  the  custom  permitted  the  student  to  keep  what  are 
called  "  short  terms  "  ;  that  is,  the  four  terms  of  Michael- 
mas, Lent,  Easter,  and  Act,  were  kept  by  a  residence,  in 
the  aggregate,  of  ninety-one  days,  or  thirteen  weeks.     Under  15 
this  interrupted  residence,  it  was  possible  that  a  student 
might   have  a  reason  for  going    down   to   his  home  four 
times  in  the  year.     This  made  eight  journeys  to  and  fro. 
But,  as  these  homes  lay  dispersed  through  all  the  shires  of 
the  island,  and  most  of  us  disdained  all  coaches  except  his  20 
Majesty's  mail,  no  city  out  of  London  could  pretend  to  so 
extensive  a  connexion  with  Mr.  Palmer's  establishment  as 
Oxford.     Three  mails,  at  the  least,  I  remember  as  passing 
every  day  through  Oxford,  and  benefiting  by  my  personal 
patronage  —  viz.,  the  Worcester,  the  Gloucester,  and  the  25 
Holyhead  mail.     Naturally,  therefore,  it  became  a  point  of 
some  interest  with  us,  whose  journeys  revolved  every  six 
weeks   on  an  average,  to  look  a  little  into  the  executive 
details  of  the  system.     With  some  of  these  Mr.  Palmer  had 
no  concern  ;  they  rested  upon  bye-laws  enacted  by  posting-  30 
houses  for    their  own    benefit,   and   upon  other  bye-laws, 
equally  stern,  enacted    by  the   inside    passengers  for   the 
illustration  of  their  own  haughty  exclusiveness.     These  last 
were   of  a   nature   to   rouse   our   scorn ;    from   which    the 


4  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

transition  was  not  very  long  to  systematic  mutiny.  Up  to 
this  time,  say  1804,  or  1805  (the  year  of  Trafalgar),  it  had 
been  the  fixed  assumption  of  the  four  inside  people  (as  an 
old  tradition  of  all  public  carriages  derived  from  the  reign  of 
5  Charles  II)  that  they,  the  illustrious  quaternion,  constituted 
a  porcelain  variety  of  the  human  race,  whose  dignity  would 
have  been  compromised  by  exchanging  one  word  of  civility 
with  the  three  miserable  delf-ware  outsides.  Even  to  have 
kicked  an  outsider  might  have  been  held  to  attaint  the  foot 

10  concerned  in  that  operation,  so  that,  perhaps,  it  would  have 
required  an  act  of  Parliament  to  restore  its  purity  of  blood. 
What  words,  then,  could  express  the  horror,  and  the  sense 
of  treason,  in  that  case,  which  //^v/ happened,  where  all  three 
outsides  (the  trinity  of  Pariahs)  made  a  vain  attempt  to  sit 

15  down  at  the  same  breakfast-table  or  dinner-table  with  the 
consecrated  four  ?  I  myself  witnessed  such  an  attempt ;  and 
on  that  occasion  a  benevolent  old  gentleman  endeavoured 
to  soothe  his  three  holy  associates,  by  suggesting  that,  if 
the  outsides  were  indicted  for  this  criminal  attempt  at  the 

20  next  assizes,  the  court  would  regard  it  as  a  case  of  lunacy 
or  delirium  tremens  rather  than  of  treason.  England  owes 
much  of  her  grandeur  to  the  depth  of  the  aristocratic 
element  in  her  social  composition,  when  pulling  against 
her  strong  democracy.      I  am  not  the  man  to  laugh  at  it. 

25  Put  sometimes,  undoubtedly,  it  expressed  itself  in  comic 
shapes.  The  course  taken  with  the  infatuated  outsiders, 
in  the  particular  attempt  which  I  have  noticed,  was  that 
the  waiter,  beckoning  them  away  from  the  privileged  salle- 
d-manger,  sang  out,  "This  way,  my  good  men,"  and  then 

30  enticed  these  good  men  away  to  the  kitchen.  Put  that  plan 
had  not  always  answered.  Sometimes,  though  rarely,  cases 
occurred  where  the  intruders,  being  stronger  than  usual,  or 
more  vicious  than  usual,  resolutely  refused  to  budge,  and  so 
far  carried  their  point  as  to  have  a  separate  table  arranged 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  5 

for  themselves  in  a  corner  of  the  general  room.  Yet,  if  an 
Indian  screen  could  be  found  ample  enough  to  plant  them 
out  from  the  very  eyes  of  the  high  table,  or  dais,  it  then 
became  possible  to  assume  as  a  fiction  of  law  that  the  three 
delf  fellows,  after  all,  were  not  present.  They  could  be  5 
ignored  by  the  porcelain  men,  under  the  maxim  that  objects 
not  appearing  and  objects  not  existing  are  governed  by  the 
same  logical  construction.1 

Such  being,  at  that  time,  the  usage  of  mail-coaches,  what 
was  to  be  done  by  us  of  young  Oxford  ?     We,  the  most  10 
aristocratic  of  people,  who  were  addicted  to  the  practice  of 
looking  down  superciliously  even  upon  the  insides  them- 
selves as  often  very  questionable  characters  —  were  we,  by 
voluntarily  going  outside,  to  court  indignities?     If  our  dress 
and  bearing  sheltered  us  generally  from  the  suspicion  of  15 
being  "  raff  "  (the  name  at  that  period  for  "  snobs  " 2),  we 
really  were  such  constructively  by  the  place  we  assumed. 
If  we  did  not  submit  to  the  deep  shadow  of  eclipse,  we 
entered    at   least    the  skirts  of   its  penumbra.      And    the 
analogy  of  theatres  was  valid  against  us, — -where  no  man  20 
can  complain  of  the  annoyances   incident   to  the   pit  or 
gallery,  having  his  instant  remedy  in  paying  the  higher 
price  of  the  boxes.     But  the  soundness  of  this  analogy  we 
disputed.     In  the  case  of   the  theatre,  it  cannot  be  pre- 
tended   that    the    inferior   situations    have    any  separate  25 
attractions,  unless    the   pit  may  be  supposed  to  have  an 
advantage  for  the  purposes  of  the  critic  or  the  dramatic 
reporter.     But  the  critic  or  reporter  is  a  rarity.     For  most 

1  De  11011  apparentibus,  etc. 

2  "  Snobs"  and  its  antithesis,  "  nobs,"  arose  among  the  internal  fac- 
tions of  shoemakers  perhaps  ten  years  later.  Possibly  enough,  the 
terms  may  have  existed  much  earlier ;  but  they  were  then  first  made 
known,  picturesquely  and  effectively,  by  a  trial  at  some  assizes  which 
happened  to  fix  the  public  attention. 


6  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE  Y 

people,  the  sole  benefit  is  in  the  price.  Now,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  outside  of  the  mail  had  its  own  incommunicable 
advantages.  These  we  could  not  forego.  The  higher 
price    we  would   willingly  have    paid,  but    not    the    price 

5  connected  with  the  condition  of  riding  inside  ;  which  con- 
dition we  pronounced  insufferable.  The  air,  the  freedom 
of  prospect,  the  proximity  to  the  horses,  the  elevation  of 
seat :  these  were  what  we  required ;  but,  above  all,  the 
certain  anticipation  of  purchasing  occasional  opportunities 

10  of  driving. 

Such  was  the  difficulty  which  pressed  us  ;  and  under  the 
coercion  of  this  difficulty  we  instituted  a  searching  inquiry 
into  the  true  quality  and  valuation  of  the  different  apart- 
ments about  the  mail.     We  conducted  this  inquiry  on  meta- 

15  physical  principles;  and  it  was  ascertained  satisfactorily 
that  the  roof  of  the  coach,  which  by  some  weak  men  had 
been  called  the  attics,  and  by  some  the  garrets,  was  in 
reality  the  drawing-room  ;  in  which  drawing-room  the  box 
was  the  chief  ottoman  or  sofa;  whilst  it  appeared  that  the 

20  inside,  which  had  been  traditionally  regarded  as  the  only 
room  tenantable  by  gentlemen,  was,  in  fact,  the  coal-cellar 
in  disguise. 

Great  wits  jump.  The  very  same  idea  had  not  long 
before  struck  the  celestial  intellect  of  China.     Amongst  the 

25  presents  carried  out  by  our  first  embassy  to  that  country 
was  a  state-coach.  It  had  been  specially  selected  as  a 
personal  gift  by  George  III  ;  but  the  exact  mode  of  using 
it  was  an  intense  mystery  to  l'ekin.  The  ambassador, 
indeed  (Lord  Macartney),  had  made  some  imperfect  expla- 

30  nations  upon  this  point;  but,  as  His  Excellency  communi- 
cated these  in  a  diplomatic  whisper  at  the  very  moment 
of  his  departure,  the  celestial  intellect  was  very  feebly  illu- 
minated, and  it  became  necessary  to  call  a  cabinet  council 
on  the  grand  state  question,  "Where  was  the   Emperor  to 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  7 

sit  ? "  The  hammer-cloth  happened  to  be  unusually  gorgeous ; 
and,  partly  on  that  consideration,  but  partly  also  because 
the  box  offered  the  most  elevated  seat,  was  nearest  to  the 
moon,  and  undeniably  went  foremost,  it  was  resolved  by 
acclamation  that  the  box  was  the  imperial  throne,  and,  5 
for  the  scoundrel  who  drove,  —he  might  sit  where  he  could 
find  a  perch.  The  horses,  therefore,  being  harnessed, 
solemnly  his  imperial  majesty  ascended  his  new  English 
throne  under  a  flourish  of  trumpets,  having  the  first  lord  of 
the  treasury  on  his  right  hand,  and  the  chief  jester  on  his  10 
left.  Pekin  gloried  in  the  spectacle ;  and  in  the  whole 
flowery  people,  constructively  present  by  representation, 
there  was  but  one  discontented  person,  and  that  was  the 
coachman.  This  mutinous  individual  audaciously  shouted, 
"Where  am  /to  sit?"  But  the  privy  council,  incensed  15 
by  his  disloyalty,  unanimously  opened  the  door,  and  kicked 
him  into  the  inside.  He  had  all  the  inside  places  to  him- 
self ;  but  such  is  the  rapacity  of  ambition  that  he  was  still 
dissatisfied.  "  I  say,"  he  cried  out  in  an  extempore  petition 
addressed  to  the  Emperor  through  the  window  —  "I  say,  20 
how  am  I  to  catch  hold  of  the  reins?"  —  "Anyhow,"  was 
the  imperial  answer  ;  "  don't  trouble  me,  man,  in  my  glory. 
How  catch  the  reins  ?  Why,  through  the  windows,  through 
the  keyholes — «#_yhow."  Finally  this  contumacious  coach- 
man lengthened  the  check-strings  into  a  sort  of  jury-reins  25 
communicating  with  the  horses  ;  with  these  he  drove  as 
steadily  as  Pekin  had  any  right  to  expect.  The  Emperor 
returned  after  the  briefest  of  circuits ;  he  descended  in 
great  pomp  from  his  throne,  with  the  severest  resolution 
never  to  remount  it.  A  public  thanksgiving  was  ordered  30 
for  his  majesty's  happy  escape  from  the  disease  of  a  broken 
neck ;  and  the  state-coach  was  dedicated  thenceforward 
as  a  votive  offering  to  the  god  Fo  Fo  —  whom  the  learned 
more  accurately  called  Fi  Fi. 


8  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE  Y 

A  revolution  of  this  same  Chinese  character  did  young 
Oxford  of  that  era  effect  in  the  constitution  of  mail-coach 
society.  It  was  a  perfect  French  Revolution  ;  and  we  had 
good  reason  to  say,  ca  ira.  In  fact,  it  soon  became  too 
5  popular.  The  "  public"  — a  well-known  character,  particu- 
larly disagreeable,  though  slightly  respectable,  and  noto- 
rious for  affecting  the  chief  seats  in  synagogues  —  had  at 
first  loudly  opposed  this  revolution  ;  but,  when  the  oppo- 
sition  showed    itself   to    be    ineffectual,    our    disagreeable 

10  friend  went  into  it  with  headlong  zeal.  At  first  it  was  a 
sort  of  race  between  us  ;  and,  as  the  public  is  usually  from 
thirty  to  fifty  years  old,  naturally  we  of  young  Oxford,  that 
averaged  about  twenty,  had  the  advantage.  Then  the 
public  took  to  bribing,  giving  fees  to  horse-keepers,  &c, 

15  who  hired  out  their  persons  as  warming-pans  on  the  box 
seat.  That,  you  know,  was  shocking  to  all  moral  sensibili- 
ties. Come  to  bribery,  said  we,  and  there  is  an  end  to 
all  morality,  —  Aristotle's,  Zeno's,  Cicero's,  or  anybody's. 
And,   besides,   of  what  use  was  it  ?     For  we  bribed   also. 

20  And,  as  our  bribes,  to  those  of  the  public,  were  as  five 
shillings  to  sixpence,  here  again  young  Oxford  had  the 
advantage.  But  the  contest  was  ruinous  to  the  principles 
of  the  stables  connected  with  the  mails.  This  whole  cor- 
poration  was   constantly  bribed,  rebribed,   and   often   sur- 

25  rebribed  ;  a  mail-coach  yard  was  like  the  hustings  in  a 
contested  election  ;  and  a  horse-keeper,  ostler,  or  helper, 
was  held  by  the  philosophical  at  that  time  to  be  the  most 
corrupt  character  in  the  nation. 

There  was  an  impression  upon  the  public  mind,  natural 

30  enough  from  the  continually  augmenting  velocity  of  the 
mail,  but  quite  erroneous,  that  an  outside  seat  on  this  class 
of  carriages  was  a  post  of  danger.  On  the  contrary,  I 
maintained  that,  if  a  man  had  become  nervous  from  scmiic 
gipsy  prediction  in  his  childhood,  allocating  to  a  particular 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  9 

moon  now  approaching  some  unknown  danger,  and  he 
should  inquire  earnestly,  "  Whither  can  I  fly  for  shelter  ? 
Is  a  prison  the  safest  retreat  ?  or  a  lunatic  hospital  ?  or  the 
British  Museum?"  I  should  have  replied,  "Oh  no;  I'll 
tell  you  what  to  do.  Take  lodgings  for  the  next  forty  days  5 
on  the  box  of  his  Majesty's  mail.  Nobody  can  touch  you 
there.  If  it  is  by  bills  at  ninety  days  after  date  that  you 
are  made  unhappy  —  if  noters  and  protesters  are  the  sort 
of  wretches  whose  astrological  shadows  darken  the  house 
of  life  —  then  note  you  what  I  vehemently  protest:  viz.,  10 
that,  no  matter  though  the  sheriff  and  under-sheriff  in  every 
county  should  be  running  after  you  with  his  posse,  touch  a 
hair  of  your  head  he  cannot  whilst  you  keep  house  and 
have  your  legal  domicile  on  the  box  of  the  mail.  It  is 
felony  to  stop  the  mail;  even  the  sheriff  cannot  do  that.  15 
And  an  extra  touch  of  the  whip  to  the  leaders  (no  great 
matter  if  it  grazes  the  sheriff)  at  any  time  guarantees  your 
safety."  In  fact,  a  bedroom  in  a  quiet  house  seems  a 
safe  enough  retreat  ;  yet  it  is  liable  to  its  own  notorious 
nuisances  —  to  robbers  by  night,  to  rats,  to  fire.  But  the  20 
mail  laughs  at  these  terrors.  To  robbers,  the  answer  is 
packed  up  and  ready  for  delivery  in  the  barrel  of  the  guard's 
blunderbuss.  Rats  again  !  there  are  none  about  mail- 
coaches  any  more  than  snakes  in  Von  Troil's  Iceland1  ; 
except,  indeed,  now  and  then  a  parliamentary  rat,  who  25 
always  hides  his  shame  in  what  I  have  shown  to  be  the 
"coal-cellar."  And,  as  to  fire,  I  never  knew  but  one  in  a 
mail-coach;  which  was  in  the  Exeter  mail,  and  caused  by 
an  obstinate  sailor  bound  to  Devonport.  Jack,  making 
light  of  the  law  and  the  lawgiver  that  had  set  their  faces  30 

1  "  Von  Trail's  Iceland"  : — The  allusion  is  to  a  well-known  chapter 
in  Von  Troil's  work,  entitled,  "  Concerning  the  Snakes  of  Iceland." 
The  entire  chapter  consists  of  these  six  words — "  There  are  no  snakes 
in  Iceland." 


io  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

against  his  offence,  insisted  on  taking  up  a  forbidden 
seat 1  in  the  rear  of  the  roof,  from  which  he  could  exchange 
his  own  yarns  with  those  of  the  guard.  No  greater  offence 
was  then  known  to  mail-coaches  ;   it  was  treason,  it  was 

S  Icesa  majcstas,  it  was  by  tendency  arson  ;  and  the  ashes  of 
Jack's  pipe,  falling  amongst  the  straw  of  the  hinder  boot, 
containing  the  mail-bags,  raised  a  flame  which  (aided  by 
the  wind  of  our  motion)  threatened  a  revolution  in  the 
republic  of  letters.     Yet  even  this  left  the  sanctity  of  the 

io  box  unviolated.  In  dignified  repose,  the  coachman  and 
myself  sat  on,  resting  with  benign  composure  upon  our 
knowledge  that  the  fire  would  have  to  burn  its  way  through 
four  inside  passengers  before  it  could  reach  ourselves.  I 
remarked  to  the  coachman,  with  a  quotation  from  Virgil's 

15  "^Eneid  "  really  too  hackneyed  — 

'•Jam  proximus  ardet 
Ucalegon." 

1  "Forbidden  seat" :  —  The  very  sternest  code  of  rules  was  enforced 
upon  the  mails  by  the  Post-office.  Throughout  England,  only  three 
outsides  were  allowed,  of  whom  one  was  to  sit  on  the  box,  and  the 
other  two  immediately  behind  the  box  ;  none,  under  any  pretext,  to 
come  near  the  guard  ;  an  indispensable  caution ;  since  else,  under  the 
guise  of  a  passenger,  a  robber  might  by  any  one  of  a  thousand  advan- 
tages—  which  sometimes  are  created,  but  always  are  favoured,  by  the 
animation  of  frank  social  intercourse  —  have  disarmed  the  guard. 
Beyond  the  Scottish  border,  the  regulation  was  so  far  relaxed  as  to 
allow  of  four  outsides,  but  not  relaxed  at  all  as  to  the  mode  of  placing 
them.  One,  as  before,  was  seated  on  the  box,  and  the  other  three  on 
the  front  of  the  roof,  with  a  determinate  and  ample  separation  from 
the  little  insulated  chair  of  the  guard.  This  relaxation  was  conceded 
by  way  of  compensating  to  Scotland  her  disadvantages  in  point  of 
population.  England,  by  the  superior  density  of  her  population,  might 
always  count  upon  a  large  fund  of  profits  in  the  fractional  trips  of 
chance  passengers  riding  for  short  distances  of  two  or  three  stages.  In 
Scotland  this  chance  counted  for  much  less.  And  therefore,  to  make 
good  the  deficiency,  Scotland  was  allowed  a  compensatory  profit  upon 
one  extra  passenger. 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  II 

But,  recollecting  that  the  Virgilian  part  of  the  coachman's 
education  might  have  been  neglected,  I  interpreted  so  far 
as  to  say  that  perhaps  at  that  moment  the  flames  were 
catching  hold  of  our  worthy  brother  and  inside  passenger, 
Ucalegon.  The  coachman  made  no  answer, — which  is  my  5 
own  way  when  a  stranger  addresses  me  either  in  Syriac  or 
in  Coptic ;  but  by  his  faint  sceptical  smile  he  seemed  to 
insinuate  that  he  knew  better,  • —  for  that  Ucalegon,  as  it 
happened,  was  not  in  the  way-bill,  and  therefore  could  not 
have  been  booked.  10 

No  dignity  is  perfect  which  does  not  at  some  point  ally 
itself  with  the  mysterious.  The  connexion  of  the  mail  with 
the  state  and  the  executive  government  —  a  connexion 
obvious,  but  yet  not  strictly  defined  —  gave  to  the  whole 
mail  establishment  an  official  grandeur  which  did  us  service  15 
on  the  roads,  and  invested  us  with  seasonable  terrors.  Not 
the  less  impressive  were  those  terrors  because  their  legal 
limits  were  imperfectly  ascertained.  Look  at  those  turn- 
pike gates :  with  what  deferential  hurry,  with  what  an 
obedient  start,  they  fly  open  at  our  approach  !  Look  at  20 
that  long  line  of  carts  and  carters  ahead,  audaciously  usurp- 
ing the  very  crest  of  the  road.  Ah  !  traitors,  they  do  not 
hear  us  as  yet ;  but,  as  soon  as  the  dreadful  blast  of  our 
horn  reaches  them  with  proclamation  of  our  approach,  see 
with  what  frenzy  of  trepidation  they  fly  to  their  horses'  25 
heads,  and  deprecate  our  wrath  by  the  precipitation  of 
their  crane-neck  quarterings.  Treason  they  feel  to  be 
their  crime  ;  each  individual  carter  feels  himself  under  the 
ban  of  confiscation  and  attainder ;  his  blood  is  attainted 
through  six  generations ;  and  nothing  is  wanting  but  the  30 
headsman  and  his  axe,  the  block  and  the  sawdust,  to  close 
up  the  vista  of  his  horrors.  What !  shall  it  be  within  bene- 
fit of  clergy  to  delay  the  king's  message  on  the  high  road  ? 
—  to  interrupt  the  great  respirations,  ebb  and  flood,  systole 


12  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

and  diastole,  of  the  national  intercourse  ?  —  to  endanger  the 
safety  of  tidings  running  day  and  night  between  all  nations 
and  languages  ?  Or  can  it  be  fancied,  amongst  the  weakest 
of  men,  that  the  bodies  of  the  criminals  will  be  given  up  to 

5  their  widows  for  Christian  burial  ?  Now,  the  doubts  which 
were  raised  as  to  our  powers  did  more  to  wrap  them  in 
terror,  by  wrapping  them  in  uncertainty,  than  could  have 
been  effected  by  the  sharpest  definitions  of  the  law  from 
the  Quarter  Sessions.    We,  on  our  parts  (we,  the  collective 

io  mail,  I  mean),  did  our  utmost  to  exalt   the   idea  of  our 

privileges  by  the  insolence  with  which  we  wielded  them. 

Whether  this  insolence  rested  upon  law  that  gave  it  a  sanc- 

'  tion,  or  upon  conscious  power  that  haughtily  dispensed  with 

that  sanction,  equally  it  spoke  from  a  potential  station  ; 

iS  and  the  agent,  in  each  particular  insolence  of  the  moment, 
was  viewed  reverentially,  as  one  having  authority. 

Sometimes  after  breakfast  his  Majesty's  mail  would 
become  frisky ;  and,  in  its  difficult  wheelings  amongst  the 
intricacies  of  early  markets,  it  would  upset  an  apple-cart,  a 

20  cart  loaded  with  eggs,  &c.  Huge  was  the  affliction  and 
dismay,  awful  was  the  smash.  I,  as  far  as  possible,  endeav- 
oured in  such  a  case  to  represent  the  conscience  and  moral 
sensibilities  of  the  mail ;  and,  when  wildernesses  of  eggs 
were  lying  poached  under  our  horses'  hoofs,  then  would  I 

25  stretch   forth  my  hands  in  sorrow,  saying  (in  words  too 
celebrated  at  that  time,  from  the  false  echoes  1  of  Marengo), 
"Ah!  wherefore  have  we  not  time  to  weep  over  you?" 
which  was  evidently  impossible,  since,  in  fact,  we  had  not 

1  "False  echoes  "  .'  —  Yes,  false  !  for  the  words  ascribed  to  Napoleon, 
as  breathed  to  the  memory  of  Desaix,  never  were  uttered  at  all.  They 
stand  in  the  same  category  of  theatrical  fictions  as  the  cry  of  the 
foundering  line-of-battle  ship  Vengeur,  as  the  vaunt  of  General  Cam- 
bronne  at  Waterloo,  "  La  Garde  meurt,  mals  ne  se  rend  pas,"  or  as  the 
repartees  of  Talleyrand. 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  13 

time  to  laugh  over  them.  Tied  to  post-office  allowance  in 
some  cases  of  fifty  minutes  for  eleven  miles,  could  the  royal 
mail  pretend  to  undertake  the  offices  of  sympathy  and  con- 
dolence ?  Could  it  be  expected  to  provide  tears  for  the 
accidents  of  the  road  ?  If  even  it  seemed  to  trample  on  5 
humanity,  it  did  so,  I  felt,  in  discharge  of  its  own  more 
peremptory  duties. 

Upholding  the  morality  of  the  mail,  a  fortiori  I  upheld 
its  rights  ;  as  a  matter  of  duty,  I  stretched  to  the  utter- 
most its  privilege  of  imperial  precedency,  and  astonished  10 
weak  minds  by  the  feudal  powers  which  I  hinted  to  be 
lurking  constructively  in  the  charters  of  this  proud  estab- 
lishment. Once  I  remember  being  on  the  box  of  the 
Holyhead  mail,  between  Shrewsbury  and  Oswestry,  when 
a  tawdry  thing  from  Birmingham,  some  "Tallyho"  or  15 
"Highflyer,"  all  flaunting  with  green  and  gold,  came  up 
alongside  of  us.  What  a  contrast  to  our  royal  simplicity 
of  form  and  colour  in  this  plebeian  wretch  !  The  single 
ornament  on  our  dark  ground  of  chocolate  colour  was  the 
mighty  shield  of  the  imperial  arms,  but  emblazoned  in  pro-  20 
portions  as  modest  as  a  signet-ring  bears  to  a  seal  of  office. 
Even  this  was  displayed  only  on  a  single  panel,  whispering, 
rather  than  proclaiming,  our  relations  to  the  mighty  state  ; 
whilst  the  beast  from  Birmingham,  our  green-and-gold  friend 
from  false,  fleeting,  perjured  Brummagem,  had  as  much  25 
writing  and  painting  on  its  sprawling  flanks  as  would  have 
puzzled  a  decipherer  from  the  tombs  of  Luxor.  For  some 
time  this  Birmingham  machine  ran  along  by  our  side  —  a 
piece  of  familiarity  that  already  of  itself  seemed  to  me 
sufficiently  Jacobinical.  But  all  at  once  a  movement  of  30 
the  horses  announced  a  desperate  intention  of  leaving  us 
behind.  "Do  you  see  t/iat?"  I  said  to  the  coachman. — 
"  I  see,"  was  his  short  answer.  He  was  wide  awake,  —  yet 
he  waited  longer  than  seemed  prudent ;  for  the  horses  of 


14  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE  Y 

our  audacious  opponent  had  a  disagreeable  air  of  freshness 
and  power.  But  his  motive  was  loyal  ;  his  wish  was  that 
the  Birmingham  conceit  should  be  full-blown  before  he 
froze  it.  When  that  seemed  right,  he  unloosed,  or,  to  speak 
5  by  a  stronger  word,  he  sprang,  his  known  resources :  he 
slipped  our  royal  horses  like  cheetahs,  or  hunting-leopards, 
after  the  affrighted  game.  How  they  could  retain  such  a 
reserve  of  fiery  power  after  the  work  they  had  accomplished 
seemed  hard  to  explain.   But  on  our  side,  besides  the  physical 

10  superiority,  was  a  tower  of  moral  strength,  namely  the  king's 
name,  "which  they  upon  the  adverse  faction  wanted." 
Passing  them  without  an  effort,  as  it  seemed,  we  threw 
them  into  the  rear  with  so  lengthening  an  interval 
between  us  as   proved  in   itself  the  bitterest  mockery   of 

15  their  presumption;  whilst  our  guard  blew  back  a  shatter- 
ing blast  of  triumph  that  was  really  too  painfully  full  of 
derision. 

I  mention  this  little  incident  for  its  connexion  with  what 
followed.     A  Welsh  rustic,  sitting  behind  me,  asked  if  I  had 

20  not  felt  my  heart  burn  within  me  during  the  progress  of 
the  race  ?  I  said,  with  philosophic  calmness,  No  ;  because 
we  were  not  racing  with  a  mail,  so  that  no  glory  could  be 
gained.  In  fact,  it  was  sufficiently  mortifying  that  such  a 
Birmingham  thing  should  dare  to  challenge  us.     The  Welsh- 

25  man  replied  that  he  didn't  see  iliat ;  for  that  a  cat  might 
look  at  a  king,  and  a  Brummagem  coach  might  lawfully 
race  the  Holyhead  mail.  "  Race  us,  if  you  like,"  I  replied, 
"  though  even  that  has  an  air  of  sedition  ;  but  not  beat  us. 
This  would  have  been  treason  ;  and  for  its  own  sake  I  am 

30  glad  that  the  'Tallyho  '  was  disappointed."  So  dissatisfied 
did  the  Welshman  seem  with  this  opinion  that  at  last  I  was 
obliged  to  tell  him  a  very  fine  story  from  one  of  our  elder 
dramatists  :  viz.,  that  once,  in  some  far  Oriental  kingdom, 
when  the  sultan  of  all  the  land,  with  his  princes,  ladies,  and 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  15 

chief  omrahs,  were  flying  their  falcons,  a  hawk  suddenly 
flew  at  a  majestic  eagle,  and,  in  defiance  of  the  eagle's  nat- 
ural advantages,  in  contempt  also  of  the  eagle's  traditional 
royalty,  and  before  the  whole  assembled  field  of  astonished 
spectators  from  Agra  and  Lahore,  killed  the  eagle  on  the  5 
spot.  Amazement  seized  the  sultan  at  the  unequal  contest, 
and  burning  admiration  for  its  unparalleled  result.  He  com- 
manded that  the  hawk  should  be  brought  before  him  ;  he 
caressed  the  bird  with  enthusiasm  ;  and  he  ordered  that, 
for  the  commemoration  of  his  matchless  courage,  a  diadem  10 
of  gold  and  rubies  should  be  solemnly  placed  on  the  hawk's 
head,  but  then  that,  immediately  after  this  solemn  coro- 
nation, the  bird  should  be  led  off  to  execution,  as  the  most 
valiant  indeed  of  traitors,  but  not  the  less  a  traitor,  as 
having  dared  to  rise  rebelliously  against  his  liege  lord  15 
and  anointed  sovereign,  the  eagle.  "Now,"  said  I  to  the 
Welshman,  "to  you  and  me,  as  men  of  refined  sensibilities, 
how  painful  it  would  have  been  that  this  poor  Brummagem 
brute,  the  'Tallyho,'  in  the  impossible  case  of  a  victory 
over  us,  should  have  been  crowned  with  Birmingham  tinsel,  20 
with  paste  diamonds  and  Roman  pearls,  and  then  led  off 
to  instant  execution."  The  Welshman  doubted  if  that 
could  be  warranted  by  law.  And,  when  I  hinted  at  the  6th 
of  Edward  Longshanks,  chap.  18,  for  regulating  the  prece- 
dency of  coaches,  as  being  probably  the  statute  relied  25 
on  for  the  capital  punishment  of  such  offences,  he  replied 
drily  that,  if  the  attempt  to  pass  a  mail  really  were  treason- 
able, it  was  a  pity  that  the  "Tallyho  "  appeared  to  have  so 
imperfect  an  acquaintance  with  law. 

The  modern  modes  of  travelling  cannot  compare  with  30 
the  old  mail-coach  system  in  grandeur  and  power.     They 
boast  of  more  velocity,  — ■  not,  however,  as  a  consciousness, 
but  as  a  fact  of  our  lifeless  knowledge,  resting  upon  alien 
evidence :  as,  for  instance,  because  somebody  says  that  we 


1 6  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

have  gone  fifty  miles  in  the  hour,  though  we  are  far  from 
feeling  it  as  a  personal  experience ;  or  upon  the  evidence 
of  a  result,  as  that  actually  we  find  ourselves  in  York  four 
hours  after  leaving  London.  Apart  from  such  an  assertion, 
5  or  such  a  result,  I  myself  am  little  aware  of  the  pace.  But, 
seated  on  the  old  mail-coach,  we  needed  no  evidence  out 
of  ourselves  to  indicate  the  velocity.  On  this  system  the 
word  was  not  magna  loquimur,  as  upon  railways,  but  vivimus. 
Yes,  "magna  vivimus" ;  we  do  not  make  verbal  ostentation 

10  of  our  grandeurs,  we  realise  our  grandeurs  in  act,  and  in  the 
very  experience  of  life.  The  vital  experience  of  the  glad 
animal  sensibilities  made  doubts  impossible  on  the  question 
of  our  speed  ;  we  heard  our  speed,  we  saw  it,  we  felt  it  as  a 
thrilling;  and  this  speed  was  not  the  product  of  blind  insen- 

15  sate  agencies,  that  had  no  sympathy  to  give,  but  was  incar- 
nated in  the  fiery  eyeballs  of  the  noblest  amongst  brutes, 
in  his  dilated  nostril,  spasmodic  muscles,  and  thunder- 
beating  hoofs.  The  sensibility  of  the  horse,  uttering  itself 
in  the  maniac  light  of  his  eye,  might  be  the  last  vibration 

20  of  such  a  movement ;  the  glory  of  Salamanca  might  be 
the  first.  But  the  intervening  links  that  connected  them, 
that  spread  the  earthquake  of  battle  into  the  eyeballs  of  the 
horse,  were  the  heart  of  man  and  its  electric  thrillings  — 
kindling  in  the  rapture  of  the  fiery  strife,  and  then  propa- 

25  gating  its  own  tumults  by  contagious  shouts  and  gestures 
to  the  heart  of  his  servant  the  horse.  But  now,  on  the  new 
system  of  travelling,  iron  tubes  and  boilers  have  discon- 
nected man's  heart  from  the  ministers  of  his  locomotion. 
Nile  nor  Trafalgar  has  power  to  raise  an  extra  bubble  in  a 

30  steam-kettle.  The  galvanic  cycle  is  broken  up  for  ever ;  man's 
imperial  nature  no  longer  sends  itself  forward  through  the 
electric  sensibility  of  the  horse  ;  the  inter-agencies  are  gone 
in  the  mode  of  communication  between  the  horse  and  his 
master  out  of   which  grew  so  many  aspects  of  sublimity 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


17 


under  accidents  of  mists  that  hid,  or  sudden  blazes  that 
revealed,  of  mobs  that  agitated,  or  midnight  solitudes  that 
awed.  Tidings  fitted  to  convulse  all  nations  must  hence- 
forwards  travel  by  culinary  process  ;  and  the  trumpet  that 
once  announced  from  afar  the  laurelled  mail,  heart-shaking  5 
when  heard  screaming  on  the  wind  and  proclaiming  itself 
through  the  darkness  to  every  village  or  solitary  house  on 
its  route,  has  now  given  way  for  ever  to  the  pot-wallopings 
of  the  boiler.  Thus  have  perished  multiform  openings  for 
public  expressions  of  interest,  scenical  yet  natural,  in  great  10 
national  tidings,  —  for  revelations  of  faces  and  groups  that 
could  not  offer  themselves  amongst  the  fluctuating  mobs 
of  a  railway  station.  The  gatherings  of  gazers  about  a 
laurelled  mail  had  one  centre,  and  acknowledged  one  sole 
interest.  But  the  crowds  attending  at  a  railway  station  15 
have  as  little  unity  as  running  water,  and  own  as  many 
centres  as  there  are  separate  carriages  in  the  train. 

How  else,  for  example,  than  as  a  constant  watcher  for 
the  dawn,  and  for  the  London  mail  that  in  summer  months 
entered  about  daybreak  amongst  the  lawny  thickets  of  20 
Marlborough  forest,  couldst  thou,  sweet  Fanny  of  the  Bath 
road,  have  become  the  glorified  inmate  of  my  dreams  ? 
Yet  Fanny,  as  the  loveliest  young  woman  for  face  and  per- 
son that  perhaps  in  my  whole  life  I  have  beheld,  merited 
the  station  which  even  now,  from  a  distance  of  forty  years,  25 
she  holds  in  my  dreams  ;  yes,  though  by  links  of  natural 
association  she  brings  along  with  her  a  troop  of  dread- 
ful creatures,  fabulous  and  not  fabulous,  that  are  more 
abominable  to  the  heart  than  Fanny  and  the  dawn  are 
delightful.  30 

Miss  Fanny  of  the  Bath  road,  strictly  speaking,  lived  at 
a  mile's  distance  from  that  road,  but  came  so  continually 
to  meet  the  mail  that  I  on  my  frequent  transits  rarely 
missed  her,  and  naturally  connected  her  image  with  the 


1 8  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

great  thoroughfare  where  only  I  had  ever  seen  her.  Why 
she  came  so  punctually  I  do  not  exactly  know ;  but  I 
believe  with  some  burden  of  commissions,  to  be  executed 
in  Bath,  which  had  gathered  to  her  own  residence  as  a  cen- 
5  tral  rendezvous  for  converging  them.  The  mail-coachman 
who  drove  the  Bath  mail  and  wore  the  royal  livery  1  hap- 
pened to  be  Fanny's  grandfather.  A  good  man  he  was, 
that  loved  his  beautiful  granddaughter,  and,  loving  her 
wisely,  was  vigilant  over  her  deportment  in  any  case  where 

10  young  Oxford  might  happen  to  be  concerned.  Did  my 
vanity  then  suggest  that  I  myself,  individually,  could  fall 
within  the  line  of  his  terrors  ?  Certainly  not,  as  regarded 
any  physical  pretensions  that  I  could  plead  ;  for  Fanny  (as 
a  chance  passenger  from  her  own  neighbourhood  once  told 

15  me)  counted  in  her  train  a  hundred  and  ninety-nine  pro- 
fessed admirers,  if  not  open  aspirants  to  her  favour  ;  and 
probably  not  one  of  the  whole  brigade  but  excelled  myself 
in  personal  advantages.  Ulysses  even,  with  the  unfair 
advantage  of  his  accursed  bow,  could  hardly  have  under- 

20  taken  that  amount  of  suitors.  So  the  danger  might  have 
seemed  slight  —  only  that  woman  is  universally  aristocratic; 
it  is  amongst  her  nobilities  of  heart  that  she  is  so.  Now, 
the  aristocratic  distinctions  in  my  favour  might  easily  with 
Miss    Fanny  have   compensated    my  physical  deficiencies. 

25  Did  I  then  make   love   to   Fanny  ?     Why,  yes ;   about   as 

1"  Wore  the  royal  livery" :  —  The  general  impression  was  that  the 
royal  livery  belonged  of  right  to  the  mail-coachmen  as  their  profes- 
sional dress.  But  that  was  an  error.  To  the  guard  it  did  belong,  I 
believe,  and  was  obviously  essential  as  an  official  warrant,  and  as  a 
means  of  instant  identification  for  his  person,  in  the  discharge  of  his 
important  public  duties.  But  the  coachman,  and  especially  if  his 
place  in  the  series  did  not  connect  him  immediately  with  London 
and  the  General  Post-Office,  obtained  the  scarlet  coat  only  as  an 
honorary  distinction  after  long  (or,  if  not  long,  trying  and  special) 
service. 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  19 

much  love  as  one  could  make  whilst  the  mail  was  changing 
horses  —  a  process  which,  ten  years  later,  did  not  occupy 
above  eighty  seconds;  but  then,  —  viz.,  about  Waterloo  — 
it  occupied  five  times  eighty.  Now,  four  hundred  seconds 
offer  a  field  quite  ample  enough  for  whispering  into  a  young  5 
woman's  ear  a  great  deal  of  truth,  and  (by  way  of  paren- 
thesis) some  trifle  of  falsehood.  Grandpapa  did  right,  there- 
fore, to  watch  me.  And  yet,  as  happens  too  often  to  the 
grandpapas  of  earth  in  a  contest  with  the  admirers  of  grand- 
daughters, how  vainly  would  he  have  watched  me  had  I  10 
meditated  any  evil  whispers  to  Fanny  !  She,  it  is  my  belief, 
would  have  protected  herself  against  any  man's  evil  sug- 
gestions. But  he,  as  the  result  showed,  could  not  have 
intercepted  the  opportunities  for  such  suggestions.  Yet, 
why  not?  Was  he  not  active?  Was  he  not  blooming?  15 
Blooming  he  was  as  Fanny  herself. 

"  Say,  all  our  praises  why  should  lords " 

Stop,  that's  not  the  line. 

"  Say,  all  our  roses  why  should  girls  engross  ?  " 

The  coachman  showed  rosy  blossoms  on  his  face  deeper  20 
even  than  his  granddaughter's  —  his  being  drawn  from  the 
ale-cask,  Fanny's  from  the  fountains  of  the  dawn.     But,  in 
spite  of  his  blooming  face,  some  infirmities  he  had  ;   and 
one  particularly  in  which  he  too  much  resembled  a  croco- 
dile.    This  lay  in  a  monstrous  inaptitude  for  turning  round.  25 
The  crocodile,  I  presume,  owes  that  inaptitude  to  the  absurd 
length  of  his  back  ;   but  in  our  grandpapa  it  arose  rather  from 
the  absurd  breadth  of  his  back,  combined,  possibly,  with 
some  growing  stiffness  in  his  legs.      Now,  upon  this  croco- 
dile infirmity  of  his  I  planted  a  human  advantage  for  ten-  30 
dering  my  homage  to  Miss  Fanny.     In  defiance  of  all  his 
honourable  vigilance,  no  sooner  had  he  presented  to  us  his 


20  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCEY 

mighty  Jovian  back  (what  a  field  for  displaying  to  man- 
kind his  royal  scarlet !),  whilst  inspecting  professionally 
the  buckles,  the  straps,  and  the  silvery  turrets  '  of  his  har- 
ness, than  I  raised  Miss  Fanny's  hand  to  my  lips,  and,  by 

5  the  mixed  tenderness  and  respectfulness  of  my  manner, 
caused  her  easily  to  understand  how  happy  it  would  make 
me  to  rank  upon  her  list  as  No.  10  or  12  :  in  which  case  a 
few  casualties  amongst  her  lovers  (and,  observe,  they  hanged 
liberally  in  those  days)  might  have  promoted  me  speedily 

10  to  the  top  of  the  tree ;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  with  how 
much  loyalty  of  submission  I  acquiesced  by  anticipation 
in  her  award,  supposing  that  she  should  plant  me  in  the 
very  rearward  of  her  favour,  as  No.  199  +  1.  Most  truly 
I  loved  this  beautiful  and  ingenuous  girl;  and,  had  it  not 

15  been  for  the  Bath  mail,  timing  all  courtships  by  post-office 
allowance,  heaven  only  knows  what  might  have  come  of  it. 
People  talk  of  being  over  head  and  ears  in  love ;  now,  the 
mail  was  the  cause  that  I  sank  only  over  ears  in  love,  — 
which,  you  know,  still  left  a  trifle  of  brain  to  overlook  the 

20  whole  conduct  of  the  affair. 

Ah,  reader  !  when  I  look  back  upon  those  days,  it  seems 
to  me  that  all  things  change  —  all  things  perish.  "Perish 
the  roses  and  the  palms  of  kings  " :  perish  even  the  crowns 
and  trophies  of  Waterloo:   thunder  and  lightning  are  not 

25  the  thunder  and  lightning  which  I  remember.  Roses  are 
degenerating.  The  Fannies  of  our  island  —  though  this  I 
say  with  reluctance  —  are  not  visibly  improving;  and  the 

1,1  Turrets":  —  As  one  who  loves  and  venerates  Chaucer  for  his 
unrivalled  merits  of  tenderness,  of  picturesque  characterisation,  and 
of  narrative  skill,  I  noticed  with  great  pleasure  that  the  word  torrettes 
is  used  by  him  to  designate  the  little  devices  through  which  the  reins 
are  made  to  pass.  This  same  word,  in  the  same  exact  sense,  I  heard 
uniformly  used  by  many  scores  of  illustrious  mail-coachmen  to  whose 
confidential  friendship  I  had  the  honour  of  being  admitted  in  my 
younger  days. 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  21 

Bath  road  is  notoriously  superannuated.  Crocodiles,  you 
will  say,  are  stationary.  Mr.  Waterton  tells  me  that  the 
crocodile  does  not  change,  — that  a  cayman,  in  fact,  or  an 
alligator,  is  just  as  good  for  riding  upon  as  he  was  in  the 
time  of  the  Pharaohs.  That  may  be ;  but  the  reason  is  5 
that  the  crocodile  does  not  live  fast  —  he  is  a  slow  coach. 
I  believe  it  is  generally  understood  among  naturalists  that 
the  crocodile  is  a  blockhead.  It  is  my  own  impression 
that  the  Pharaohs  were  also  blockheads.  Now,  as  the 
Pharaohs  and  the  crocodile  domineered  over  Egyptian  10 
society,  this  accounts  for  a  singular  mistake  that  prevailed 
through  innumerable  generations  on  the  Nile.  The  croco- 
dile made  the  ridiculous  blunder  of  supposing  man  to  be 
meant  chiefly  for  his  own  eating.  Man,  taking  a  different 
view  of  the  subject,  naturally  met  that  mistake  by  another:  15 
he  viewed  the  crocodile  as  a  thing  sometimes  to  worship, 
but  always  to  run  away  from.  And  this  continued  till 
Mr.  Waterton  *  changed  the  relations  between  the  animals. 
The  mode  of  escaping  from  the  reptile  he  showed  to  be 
not  by  running  away,  but  by  leaping  on  its  back  booted  20 
and  spurred.  The  two  animals  had  misunderstood  each 
other.  The  use  of  the  crocodile  has  now  been  cleared 
up  —  viz.,  to  be  ridden;  and  the  final  cause  of  man  is  that 
he  may  improve  the  health  of  the  crocodile  by  riding  him 

1  "Mr.  Waterton" : — Had  the  reader  lived  through  the  last  gener- 
ation, he  would  not  need  to  be  told  that,  some  thirty  or  thirty-five 
years  back,  Mr.  Waterton,  a  distinguished  country  gentleman  of  ancient 
family  in  Northumberland,  publicly  mounted  and  rode  in  top-boots  a 
savage  old  crocodile,  that  was  restive  and  very  impertinent,  but  all  to 
no  purpose.  The  crocodile  jibbed  and  tried  to  kick,  but  vainly. 
He  was  no  more  able  to  throw  the  squire  than  Sinbad  was  to  throw 
the  old  scoundrel  who  used  his  back  without  paying  for  it,  until 
he  discovered  a  mode  (slightly  immoral,  perhaps,  though  some  think 
not)  of  murdering  the  old  fraudulent  jockey,  and  so  circuitously  of 
unhorsing  him. 


22  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

a-fox-hunting  before  breakfast.  And  it  is  pretty  certain 
that  any  crocodile  who  has  been  regularly  hunted  through 
the  season,  and  is  master  of  the  weight  he  carries,  will  take 
a  six-barred  gate  now  as  well  as  ever  he  would  have  done 
5  in  the  infancy  of  the  pyramids. 

If,  therefore,  the  crocodile  does  not  change,  all  things  else 
undeniably  do :  even  the  shadow  of  the  pyramids  grows  less. 
And  often  the  restoration  in  vision  of  Fanny  and  the  Bath 
road  makes  me  too  pathetically  sensible  of  that  truth.    Out 

io  of  the  darkness,  if  I  happen  to  call  back  the  image  of  Fanny, 
up  rises  suddenly  from  a  gulf  of  forty  years  a  rose  in  June  ; 
or,  if  I  think  for  an  instant  of  the  rose  in  June,  up  rises 
the  heavenly  face  of  Fanny.  One  after  the  other,  like  the 
antiphonies  in  the  choral  service,  rise  Fanny  and  the  rose  in 

15  June,  then  back  again  the  rose  in  June  and  Fanny.  Then 
come  both  together,  as  in  a  chorus  —  roses  and  Fannies, 
Fannies  and  roses,  without  end,  thick  as  blossoms  in  para- 
dise. Then  comes  a  venerable  crocodile,  in  a  royal  livery 
of  scarlet  and  gold,  with  sixteen  capes  ;  and  the  crocodile 

20  is  driving  four-in-hand  from  the  box  of  the  Bath  mail.  And 
suddenly  we  upon  the  mail  are  pulled  up  by  a  mighty  dial, 
sculptured  with  the  hours,  that  mingle  with  the  heavens 
and  the  heavenly  host.  Then  all  at  once  we  are  arrived  at 
Marlborough  forest,  amongst  the  lovely  households  x  of  the 

25  roe-deer;  the  deer  and  their  fawns  retire  into  the  dewy 
thickets  ;  the  thickets  are  rich  with  roses  ;  once  again  the 
roses  call  up  the  sweet  countenance  of  Fanny ;  and  she, 

1 "  Households  "  ;  —  Roe-deer  do  not  congregate  in  herds  like  the 
fallow  or  the  red  deer,  but  by  separate  families,  parents  and  children  ; 
which  feature  of  approximation  to  the  sanctity  of  human  hearths, 
added  to  their  comparatively  miniature  and  graceful  proportions,  con- 
ciliates to  them  an  interest  of  peculiar  tenderness,  supposing  even  that 
this  beautiful  creature  is  less  characteristically  impressed  with  the 
grandeurs  of  savage  and  forest  life. 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  23 

being  the  granddaughter  of  a  crocodile,  awakens  a  dreadful 
host  of  semi-legendary  animals  —  griffins,  dragons,  basilisks, 
sphinxes  —  till  at  length  the  whole  vision  of  fighting  images 
crowds  into  one  towering  armorial  shield,  a  vast  emblazonry 
of  human  charities  and  human  loveliness  that  have  perished,  5 
but  quartered  heraldically  with  unutterable  and  demoniac 
natures,  whilst  over  all  rises,  as  a  surmounting  crest,  one 
fair  female  hand,  with  the  forefinger  pointing,  in  sweet, 
sorrowful  admonition,  upwards  to  heaven,  where  is  sculp- 
tured the  eternal  writing  which  proclaims  the  frailty  of  10 
earth  and  her  children. 

Going  Down  with  Victory 

But  the  grandest  chapter  of  our  experience  within  the 
whole  mail-coach  service  was  on  those  occasions  when  we 
went  down  from  London  with  the  news  of  victory.  A 
period  of  about  ten  years  stretched  from  Trafalgar  to  15 
Waterloo ;  the  second  and  third  years  of  which  period 
(1806  and  1807)  were  comparatively  sterile;  but  the  other 
nine  (from  1805  to  18 15  inclusively)  furnished  a  long  suc- 
cession of  victories,  the  least  of  which,  in  such  a  contest  of 
Titans,  had  an  inappreciable  value  of  position :  partly  for  20 
its  absolute  interference  with  the  plans  of  our  enemy,  but 
still  more  from  its  keeping  alive  through  central  Europe 
the  sense  of  a  deep-seated  vulnerability  in  France.  Even 
to  tease  the  coasts  of  our  enemy,  to  mortify  them  by  con- 
tinual blockades,  to  insult  them  by  capturing  if  it  were  but  25 
a  baubling  schooner  under  the  eyes  of  their  arrogant  armies, 
repeated  from  time  to  time  a  sullen  proclamation  of  power 
lodged  in  one  quarter  to  which  the  hopes  of  Christendom 
turned  in  secret.  How  much  more  loudly  must  this  procla- 
mation have  spoken  in  the  audacity1  of  having  bearded  the  30 

Xu  Audacity" : — Such  the  French  accounted  it;   and  it  has  struck 
me  that  Soult  would  not  have  been  so  popular  in  London,  at  the  period 


24  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

elite  of  their  troops,  and  having  beaten  them  in  pitched 
battles !  Five  years  of  life  it  was  worth  paying  down  for 
the  privilege  of  an  outside  place  on  a  mail-coach,  when 
carrying  down  the  first  tidings  of  any  such  event.  And  it 
5  is  to  be  noted  that,  from  our  insular  situation,  and  the  mul- 
titude of  our  frigates  disposable  for  the  rapid  transmission 
of  intelligence,  rarely  did  any  unauthorised  rumour  steal 
away  a  prelibation  from  the  first  aroma  of  the  regular 
despatches.      The    government    news    was    generally    the 

10  earliest  news. 

From  eight  p.m.  to  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  later  imagine 
the  mails  assembled  on  parade  in  Lombard  Street ;  where, 
at  that  time,1  and  not  in  St.  Martin's-le-Grand,  was  seated 
the  General  Post-Office.     In  what  exact  strength  we  mus- 

15  tered  I  do  not  remember;  but,  from  the  length  of  each  sep- 
arate attclagc,  we  filled  the  street,  though  a  long  one,  and 
though  we  were  drawn  up  in  double  file.  On  any  night  the 
spectacle  was  beautiful.  The  absolute  perfection  of  all  the 
appointments  about  the  carriages  and  the  harness,  their 

20  strength,  their  brilliant  cleanliness,  their  beautiful  sim- 
plicity—  but,  more  than  all,  the  royal  magnificence  of  the 
horses- — were  what  might  first  have  fixed  the  attention. 

of  her  present  Majesty's  coronation,  or  in  Manchester,  on  occasion  of 
his  visit  to  that  town,  if  they  had  been  aware  of  the  insolence  with  which 
he  spoke  of  us  in  notes  written  at  intervals  from  the  field  of  Waterloo. 
As  though  it  had  been  mere  felony  in  our  army  to  look  a  French  one 
in  the  face,  he  said  in  more  notes  than  one,  dated  from  two  to  four  P.M. 
on  the  field  of  Waterloo,  "  Here  are  the  English  —  we  have  them  ;  they 
are  caught  en  flagrant  delit."  Yet  no  man  should  have  known  us  better ; 
no  man  had  drunk  deeper  from  the  cup  of  humiliation  than  Soult  had 
in  1S09,  when  ejected  by  us  with  headlong  violence  from  Oporto,  and 
pursued  through  a  long  line  of  wrecks  to  the  frontier  of  Spain  ;  and 
subsequently  at  Albuera,  in  the  bloodiest  of  recorded  battles,  to  say 
nothing  of  Toulouse,  he  should  have  learned  our  pretensions. 
1 "  At  that  time  "  :  —  I  speak  of  the  era  previous  to  Waterloo. 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  25 

Every  carriage  on  every  morning  in  the  year  was  taken 
down  to  an  official  inspector  for  examination :  wheels, 
axles,  linchpins,  pole,  glasses,  lamps,  were  all  critically 
probed  and  tested.  Every  part  of  every  carriage  had  been 
cleaned,  every  horse  had  been  groomed,  with  as  much  rigour  5 
as  if  they  belonged  to  a  private  gentleman  ;  and  that  part 
of  the  spectacle  offered  itself  always.  But  the  night  before 
us  is  a  night  of  victory ;  and,  behold  !  to  the  ordinary  dis- 
play what  a  heart-shaking  addition!  —  horses,  men,  car- 
riages, all  are  dressed  in  laurels  and  flowers,  oak-leaves  and  10 
ribbons.  The  guards,  as  being  officially  his  Majesty's  ser- 
vants, and  of  the  coachmen  such  as  are  within  the  privilege 
of  the  post-office,  wear  the  royal  liveries  of  course  ;  and,  as 
it  is  summer  (for  all  the  land  victories  were  naturally  won 
in  summer),  they  wear,  on  this  fine  evening,  these  liveries  15 
exposed  to  view,  without  any  covering  of  upper  coats. 
Such  a  costume,  and  the  elaborate  arrangement  of  the 
laurels  in  their  hats,  dilate  their  hearts,  by  giving  to  them 
openly  a  personal  connexion  with  the  great  news  in  which 
already  they  have  the  general  interest  of  patriotism.  That  20 
great  national  sentiment  surmounts  and  quells  all  sense  of 
ordinary  distinctions.  Those  passengers  who  happen  to 
be  gentlemen  are  now  hardly  to  be  distinguished  as  such 
except  by  dress  ;  for  the  usual  reserve  of  their  manner  in 
speaking  to  the  attendants  has  on  this  night  melted  away.  25 
One  heart,  one  pride,  one  glory,  connects  every  man  by  the 
transcendent  bond  of  his  national  blood.  The  spectators, 
who  are  numerous  beyond  precedent,  express  their  sym- 
pathy with  these  fervent  feelings  by  continual  hurrahs. 
Every  moment  are  shouted  aloud  by  the  post-office  ser-  30 
vants,  and  summoned  to  draw  up,  the  great  ancestral  names 
of  cities  known  to  history  through  a  thousand  years  — 
Lincoln,  Winchester,  Portsmouth,  Gloucester,  Oxford,  Bris- 
tol,   Manchester,    York,    Newcastle,    Edinburgh,    Glasgow, 


26  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCEY 

Perth,  Stirling,  Aberdeen  —  expressing  the  grandeur  of  the 
empire  by  the  antiquity  of  its  towns,  and  the  grandeur  of 
the  mail  establishment  by  the  diffusive  radiation  of  its  sep- 
arate missions.     Every  moment  you  hear  the  thunder  of 

5  lids  locked  down  upon  the  mail-bags.  That  sound  to  each 
individual  mail  is  the  signal  for  drawing  off  ;  which  process 
is  the  finest  part  of  the  entire  spectacle.  Then  come  the 
horses  into  play.  Horses  !  can  these  be  horses  that  bound 
off  with  the  action  and  gestures  of  leopards  ?    What  stir  !  — 

io  what  sea-like  ferment!  —  what  a  thundering  of  wheels!  — 
what  a  trampling  of  hoofs  !  —  what  a  sounding  of  trumpets  ! 
— what  farewell  cheers — what  redoubling  peals  of  brotherly 
congratulation,  connecting  the  name  of  the  particular  mail 
—  "  Liverpool  for  ever  !  "  —  with  the  name  of  the  particular 

15  victory  —  "Badajoz  for  ever!"  or  "Salamanca  for  ever!" 
The  half-slumbering  consciousness  that  all  night  long,  and 
all  the  next  day  —  perhaps  for  even  a  longer  period  —  many 
of  these  mails,  like  fire  racing  along  a  train  of  gunpowder, 
will  be  kindling  at  every  instant  new  successions  of  burn- 

20  ing  joy,  has  an  obscure  effect  of  multiplying  the  victory 
itself,  by  multiplying  to  the  imagination  into  infinity  the 
stages  of  its  progressive  diffusion.  A  fiery  arrow  seems  to 
be  let  loose,  which  from  that  moment  is  destined  to  travel, 
without  intermission,  westwards  for  three  hundred  x  miles 

1"  Three  hundred" :  —  Of  necessity,  this  scale  of  measurement,  to 
an  American,  if  he  happens  to  be  a  thoughtless  man,  must  sound  ludi- 
crous. Accordingly,  I  remember  a  case  in  which  an  American  writer 
indulges  himself  in  the  luxury  of  a  little  fibbing,  by  ascribing  to  an 
Englishman  a  pompous  account  of  the  Thames,  constructed  entirely 
upon  American  ideas  of  grandeur,  and  concluding  in  something  like 
these  terms:  —  "And,  sir,  arriving  at  Ixmdon,  this  mighty  father  of 
rivers  attains  a  breadth  of  at  least  two  furlongs,  having,  in  its  winding 
course,  traversed  the  astonishing  distance  of  one  hundred  and  seventy 
miles."  And  this  the  candid  American  thinks  it  fair  to  contrast  with 
the  scale  of  the  Mississippi.     Now,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  answer 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  27 

—  northwards  for  six  hundred;  and  the  sympathy  of  our 
Lombard  Street  friends  at  parting  is  exalted  a  hundredfold 
by  a  sort  of  visionary  sympathy  with  the  yet  slumbering 
sympathies  which  in  so  vast  a  succession  we  are  going  to 
awake.  •  5 

Liberated  from  the  embarrassments  of  the  city,  and 
issuing  into  the  broad  uncrowded  avenues  of  the  northern 
suburbs,  we  soon  begin  to  enter  upon  our  natural  pace  of 
ten  miles  an  hour.  In  the  broad  light  of  the  summer  even- 
ing, the  sun,  perhaps,  only  just  at  the  point  of  setting,  we  10 
are  seen  from  every  storey  of  every  house.  Heads  of  every 
age  crowd  to  the  windows  ;  young  and  old  understand  the 
language  of  our  victorious  symbols ;  and  rolling  volleys  of 
sympathising  cheers  run  along  us,  behind  us,  and  before  us. 
The  beggar,  rearing  himself  against  the  wall,  forgets  his  15 

a  pure  fiction  gravely ;  else  one  might  say  that  no  Englishman  out  of 
Bedlam  ever  thought  of  looking  in  an  island  for  the  rivers  of  a  conti- 
nent, nor,  consequently,  could  have  thought  of  looking  for  the  peculiar 
grandeur  of  the  Thames  in  the  length  of  its  course,  or  in  the  extent  of 
soil  which  it  drains.  Yet,  if  he  had  been  so  absurd,  the  American  might 
have  recollected  that  a  river,  not  to  be  compared  with  the  Thames  even 
as  to  volume  of  water  —  viz.,  the  Tiber  —  has  contrived  to  make  itself 
heard  of  in  this  world  for  twenty-five  centuries  to  an  extent  not  reached 
as  yet  by  any  river,  however  corpulent,  of  his  own  land.  The  glory  of 
the  Thames  is  measured  by  the  destiny  of  the  population  to  which  it 
ministers,  by  the  commerce  which  it  supports,  by  the  grandeur  of  the 
empire  in  which,  though  far  from  the  largest,  it  is  the  most  influential 
stream.  Upon  some  such  scale,  and  not  by  a  transfer  of  Columbian 
standards,  is  the  course  of  our  English  mails  to  be  valued.  The 
American  may  fancy  the  effect  of  his  own  valuations  to  our  English 
ears  by  supposing  the  case  of  a  Siberian  glorifying  his  country  in  these 
terms :  —  "  These  wretches,  sir,  in  France  and  England,  cannot  march 
half  a  mile  in  any  direction  without  finding  a  house  where  food  can  be 
had  and  lodging  ;  whereas  such  is  the  noble  desolation  of  our  magnifi- 
cent country  that  in  many  a  direction  for  a  thousand  miles  I  will  engage 
that  a  dog  shall  not  find  shelter  from  a  snow-storm,  nor  a  wren  find  an 
apology  for  breakfast." 


28  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

lameness  —  real  or  assumed  —  thinks  not  of  his  whining 
trade,  but  stands  erect,  with  bold  exulting  smiles,  as  we 
pass  him.  The  victory  has  healed  him,  and  says,  Be  thou 
whole  !  Women  and  children,  from  garrets  alike  and  cellars, 
5  through  infinite  London,  look  down  or  look  up  with  loving 
eyes  upon  our  gay  ribbons  and  our  martial  laurels  ;  some- 
times kiss  their  hands  ;  sometimes  hang  out,  as  signals  of 
affection,  pocket-handkerchiefs,  aprons,  dusters,  anything 
that,  by  catching  the  summer  breezes,  will  express  an  aerial 

10  jubilation.  On  the  London  side  of  Barnet,  to  which  we 
draw  near  within  a  few  minutes  after  nine,  observe  that 
private  carriage  which  is  approaching  us.  The  weather 
being  so  warm,  the  glasses  are  all  down  ;  and  one  may  read, 
as  on  the  stage  of  a  theatre,  everything  that  goes  on  within. 

15  It  contains  three  ladies  • — one  likely  to  be  "mamma," 
and  two  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  who  are  probably  her 
daughters.  What  lovely  animation,  what  beautiful  unpre- 
meditated pantomime,  explaining  to  us  every  syllable  that 
passes,    in   these   ingenuous   girls  !      By   the  sudden   start 

20  and  raising  of  the  hands  on  first  discovering  our  laurelled 
equipage,  by  the  sudden  movement  and  appeal  to  the  elder 
lady  from  both  of  them,  and  by  the  heightened  colour  on 
their  animated  countenances,  we  can  almost  hear  them 
saying,  "See,  see!     Look  at  their  laurels!     Oh,  mamma! 

25  there  has  been  a  great  battle  in  Spain  ;  and  it  has  been  a 
great  victory."  In  a  moment  we  are  on  the  point  of  pass- 
ing them.  We  passengers  —  I  on  the  box.  and  the  two 
on  the  roof  behind  me  —  raise  our  hats  to  the  ladies;  the 
coachman  makes  his  professional  salute  with  the  whip;  the 

30  guard  even,  though  punctilious  on  the  matter  of  his  dignity 
as  an  officer  under  the  crown,  touches  his  hat.  The  ladies 
move  to  us,  in  return,  with  a  winning  graciousness  of 
gesture  ;  all  smile  on  each  side  in  a  way  that  nobody  could 
misunderstand,  and  that  nothing  short  of  a  grand  national 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  29 

sympathy  could  so  instantaneously  prompt.  Will  these 
ladies  say  that  we  are  nothing  to  them  ?  Oh  no  ;  they  will 
not  say  that.  They  cannot  deny- — they  do  not  deny  — 
that  for  this  night  they  are  our  sisters  ;  gentle  or  simple, 
scholar  or  illiterate  servant,  for  twelve  hours  to  come,  5 
we  on  the  outside  have  the  honour  to  be  their  brothers. 
Those  poor  women,  again,  who  stop  to  gaze  upon  us  with 
delight  at  the  entrance  of  Barnet,  and  seem,  by  their  air  of 
weariness,  to  be  returning  from  labour  —  do  you  mean  to 
say  that  they  are  washerwomen  and  charwomen  ?  Oh,  my  10 
poor  friend,  you  are  quite  mistaken.  I  assure  you  they 
stand  in  a  far  higher  rank;  for  this  one  night  they  feel 
themselves  by  birthright  to  be  daughters  of  England,  and 
answer  to  no  humbler  title. 

Every  joy,  however,  even  rapturous  joy  —  such  is  the  sad  15 
law  of  earth  —  may  carry  with  it  grief,  or  fear  of  grief,  to 
some.     Three  miles  beyond  Barnet,  we  see  approaching  us 
another  private  carriage,  nearly  repeating  the  circumstances 
of  the  former  case.     Here,  also,  the  glasses  are  all  down  ; 
here,  also,  is  an  elderly  lady  seated ;  but  the  two  daughters  20 
are  missing ;  for  the  single  young  person  sitting  by  the  lady's 
side  seems  to  be  an  attendant  —  so  I  judge  from  her  dress, 
and  her  air  of  respectful  reserve.    The  lady  is  in  mourning  ; 
and  her  countenance  expresses  sorrow.    At  first  she  does  not 
look  up ;  so  that  I  believe  she  is  not  aware  of  our  approach,  25 
until  she  hears  the  measured  beating  of  our  horses'  hoofs. 
Then  she  raises  her  eyes  to  settle  them  painfully  on  our 
triumphal  equipage.    Our  decorations  explain  the  case  to  her 
at  once  ;  but  she  beholds  them  with  apparent  anxiety,  or 
even  with  terror.     Some  time  before  this,  I,  finding  it  diffi-  30 
cult  to  hit  a  flying  mark  when  embarrassed  by  the  coach- 
man's person  and  reins  intervening,  had  given  to  the  guard 
a  "  Courier  "  evening  paper,  containing  the  gazette,  for  the 
next  carriage  that  might  pass.     Accordingly  he  tossed  it 


30  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

in,  so  folded  that  the  huge  capitals  expressing  some  such 
legend  as  glorious  victory  might  catch  the  eye  at  once. 
To  see  the  paper,  however,  at  all,  interpreted  as  it  was  by 
our  ensigns  of  triumph,  explained  everything;  and,  if  the 
5  guard  were  right  in  thinking  the  lady  to  have  received  it 
with  a  gesture  of  horror,  it  could  not  be  doubtful  that  she 
had  suffered  some  deep  personal  affliction  in  connexion  with 
this  Spanish  war. 

Here,  now,  was  the  case  of  one  who,  having  formerly 

10  suffered,  might,  erroneously  perhaps,  be  distressing  herself 
with  anticipations  of  another  similar  suffering.  That  same 
night,  and  hardly  three  hours  later,  occurred  the  reverse 
case.  A  poor  woman,  who  too  probably  would  find  herself,  in 
a  day  or  two,  to  have  suffered  the  heaviest  of  afflictions  by 

15  the  battle,  blindly  allowed  herself  to  express  an  exultation 
so  unmeasured  in  the  news  and  its  details  as  gave  to  her  the 
appearance  which  amongst  Celtic  Highlanders  is  called  fey. 
This  was  at  some  little  town  where  we  changed  horses  an 
hour  or  two  after  midnight.      Some  fair  or  wake  had  kept 

20  the  people  up  out  of  their  beds,  and  had  occasioned  a  partial 
illumination  of  the  stalls  and  booths,  presenting  an  unusual 
but  very  impressive  effect.  We  saw  many  lights  moving 
about  as  we  drew  near  ;  and  perhaps  the  most  striking  scene 
on  the  whole  route  was  our  reception  at  this  place.     The 

25  flashing  of  torches  and  the  beautiful  radiance  of  blue  lights 
(technically,  Bengal  lights)  upon  the  heads  of  our  horses  ; 
the  fine  effect  of  such  a  showery  and  ghostly  illumination 
falling  upon  our  flowers  and  glittering  laurels1;  whilst  all 
around  ourselves,  that  formed  a  centre  of  light,  the  darkness 

30  gathered  on  the  rear  and  flanks  in  massy  blackness :  these 
optical  splendours,  together  with  the  prodigious  enthusiasm 

1 "  Glittering  laurels" : — I  must  observe  that  the  colour  of  green 
suffers  almost  a  spiritual  change  and  exaltation  under  the  effect  of 
llengal  lights. 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  31 

of  the  people,  composed  a  picture  at  once  scenical  and  affect- 
ing, theatrical  and  holy.  As  we  staid  for  three  or  four 
minutes,  I  alighted ;  and  immediately  from  a  dismantled 
stall  in  the  street,  where  no  doubt  she  had  been  presiding 
through  the  earlier  part  of  the  night,  advanced  eagerly  a  5 
middle-aged  woman.  The  sight  of  my  newspaper  it  was 
that  had  drawn  her  attention  upon  myself.  The  victory 
which  we  were  carrying  down  to  the  provinces  on  this 
occasion  was  the  imperfect  one  of  Talavera  —  imperfect  for 
its  results,  such  was  the  virtual  treachery  of  the  Spanish  10 
general,  Cuesta,  but  not  imperfect  in  its  ever-memorable 
heroism.  I  told  her  the  main  outline  of  the  battle.  The 
agitation  of  her  enthusiasm  had  been  so  conspicuous  when 
listening,  and  when  first  applying  for  information,  that  I 
could  not  but  ask  her  if  she  had  not  some  relative  in  the  15 
Peninsular  army.  Oh  yes  ;  her  only  son  was  there.  In 
what  regiment  ?  He  was  a  trooper  in  the  23d  Dragoons. 
My  heart  sank  within  me  as  she  made  that  answer.  This 
sublime  regiment,  which  an  Englishman  should  never  men- 
tion without  raising  his  hat  to  their  memory,  had  made  the  20 
most  memorable  and  effective  charge  recorded  in  military 
annals.  They  leaped  their  horses  —  over  a  tfench  where 
they  could  ;  into  it,  and  with  the  result  of  death  or  muti- 
lation, when  they  could  not.  What  proportion  cleared  the 
trench  is  nowhere  stated.  Those  who  did  closed  up  and  25 
went  down  upon  the  enemy  with  such  divinity  of  fervour 
(I  use  the  word  divinity  by  design  :  the  inspiration  of  God 
must  have  prompted  this  movement  for  those  whom  even 
then  He  was  calling  to  His  presence)  that  two  results  fol- 
lowed. As  regarded  the  enemy,  this  23d  Dragoons,  not,  I  30 
believe,  originally  three  hundred  and  fifty  strong,  paralysed 
a  French  column  six  thousand  strong,  then  ascended  the 
hill,  and  fixed  the  gaze  of  the  whole  French  army.  As 
regarded  themselves,  the  23d  were  supposed  at  first  to  have 


32  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

been  barely  not  annihilated  ;  but  eventually,  I  believe,  about 
one  in  four  survived.  And  this,  then,  was  the  regiment  — 
a  regiment  already  for  some  hours  glorified  and  hallowed 
to  the  ear  of  all  London,  as  lying  stretched,  by  a  large 
5  majority,  upon  one  bloody  aceldama  —  in  which  the  young 
trooper  served  whose  mother  was  now  talking  in  a  spirit 
of  such  joyous  enthusiasm.  Did  I  tell  her  the  truth  ?  Had 
I  the  heart  to  break  up  her  dreams  ?  No.  To-morrow,  said 
I  to  myself  —  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  will  publish  the 

10  worst.  For  one  night  more  wherefore  should  she  not  sleep 
in  peace  ?  After  to-morrow  the  chances  are  too  many  that 
peace  will  forsake  her  pillow.  This  brief  respite,  then,  let 
her  owe  to  my  gift  and  my  forbearance.  But,  if  I  told  her 
not  of  the  bloody  price  that  had  been  paid,  not  therefore 

15  was  I  silent  on  the  contributions  from  her  son's  regiment 
to  that  day's  service  and  glory.  I  showed  her  not  the 
funeral  banners  under  which  the  noble  regiment  was  sleep- 
ing. I  lifted  not  the  overshadowing  laurels  from  the  bloody 
trench  in  which  horse  and  rider  lay  mangled  together.    But 

20  I  told  her  how  these  dear  children  of  England,  officers  and 
privates,  had  leaped  their  horses  over  all  obstacles  as  gaily 
as  hunters  to  the  morning's  chase.  I  told  her  how  they 
rode  their  horses  into  the  midst  of  death,  —  saying  to 
myself,  but  not  saying  to  her,  "  and  laid  down  their  young 

25  lives  for  thee,  O  mother  England!  as  willingly  —  poured 
out  their  noble  blood  as  cheerfully  —  as  ever,  after  a  long 
day's  sport,  when  infants,  they  had  rested  their  weary  heads 
upon  their  mother's  knees,  or  had  sunk  to  sleep  in  her  arms." 
Strange  it  is,  yet  true,  that  she  seemed  to  have  no  fears  for 

30  her  son's  safety,  even  after  this  knowledge  that  the  23d 
Dragoons  had  been  memorably  engaged  ;  but  so  much  was 
she  enraptured  by  the  knowledge  that  his  regiment,  and 
therefore  that  he,  had  rendered  conspicuous  service  in  the 
dreadful  conflict  —  a  service  which  had  actually  made  them, 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  2>Z 

within  the  last  twelve  hours,  the  foremost  topic  of  conver- 
sation in  London  —  so  absolutely  was  fear  swallowed  up  in 
joy — that,  in  the  mere  simplicity  of  her  fervent  nature,  the 
poor  woman  threw  her  arms  round  my  neck,  as  she  thought 
of  her  son,  and  gave  to  me  the  kiss  which  secretly  was  meant  5 
for  him. 

Section  II  —  The  Vision  of  Sudden  Death 

What  is  to  be  taken  as  the  predominant  opinion  of  man, 
reflective   and   philosophic,   upon  sudden    death  ?     It    is 
remarkable  that,  in  different  conditions  of  society,  sudden 
death   has  been  variously  regarded  as  the  consummation  10 
of  an  earthly  career  most  fervently  to  be  desired,  or,  again, 
as   that   consummation   which   is  with  most  horror  to  be 
deprecated.     Caesar  the  Dictator,  at  his  last  dinner-party 
(ccena),  on  the  very  evening  before  his  assassination,  when 
the  minutes   of  his  earthly  career  were  numbered,  being  15 
asked  what  death,  in  his  judgment,  might  be  pronounced 
the   most  eligible,    replied   "That   which  should  be  most 
sudden."     On  the  other  hand,  the   divine   Litany  of  our 
English  Church,  when  breathing  forth  supplications,  as  if 
in  some  representative  character,  for  the  whole  human  race  20 
prostrate  before  God,  places  such  a  death  in  the  very  van 
of   horrors:    "From  lightning  and  tempest;    from  plague, 
pestilence,  and  famine  ;  from  battle  and  murder,  and  from 
sudden  death —  Good  Lord,  deliver  us."     Sudden  death  is 
here  made  to  crown  the  climax  in  a  grand  ascent  of  calam-  25 
ities ;  it  is  ranked  among  the  last  of  curses  ;  and  yet  by  the 
noblest  of  Romans  it  was  ranked  as  the  first  of  blessings. 
In  that  difference  most  readers  will  see  little  more  than  the 
essential    difference  between   Christianity   and   Paganism. 
But  this,  on  consideration,  I  doubt.     The  Christian  Church  3° 
may  be  right  in  its  estimate  of  sudden  death ;  and  it  is  a 


34  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

natural  feeling,  though  after  all  it  may  also  be  an  infirm 
one,  to  wish  for  a  quiet  dismissal  from  life,  as  that  which 
seems  most  reconcilable  with  meditation,  with  penitential 
retrospects,  and  with  the  humilities  of  farewell  prayer. 
5  There  does  not,  however,  occur  to  me  any  direct  scriptural 
warrant  for  this  earnest  petition  of  the  English  Litany, 
unless  under  a  special  construction  of  the  word  "sudden." 
It  seems  a  petition  indulged  rather  and  conceded  to  human 
infirmity  than  exacted  from  human  piety.     It  is  not  so  much 

10  a  doctrine  built  upon  the  eternities  of  the  Christian  sys- 
tem as  a  plausible  opinion  built  upon  special  varieties  of 
physical  temperament.  Let  that,  however,  be  as  it  may, 
two  remarks  suggest  themselves  as  prudent  restraints  upon 
a  doctrine  which  else  may  wander,  and  has  wandered,  into 

15  an  uncharitable  superstition.  The  first  is  this:  that  many 
people  are  likely  to  exaggerate  the  horror  of  a  sudden  death 
from  the  disposition  to  lay  a  false  stress  upon  words  or  acts 
simply  because  by  an  accident  they  have  become  final  words 
or  acts.     If  a  man  dies,  for  instance,  by  some  sudden  death 

zo  when  he  happens  to  be  intoxicated,  such  a  death  is  falsely 
regarded  with  peculiar  horror ;  as  though  the  intoxication 
were  suddenly  exalted  into  a  blasphemy.  But  that  is 
unphilosophic.  The  man  was,  or  he  was  not,  habitually  a 
drunkard.      If  not,  if  his  intoxication  were  a  solitary  acci- 

25  dent,  there  can  be  no  reason  for  allowing  special  emphasis 
to  this  act  simply  because  through  misfortune  it  became 
his  final  act.  Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  were  no  acci- 
dent, but  one  of  his  Jiabitual  transgressions,  will  it  be  the 
more  habitual  or  the  more  a  transgression  because  some 

30  sudden  calamity,  surprising  him,  has  caused  this  habitual 
transgression  to  be  also  a  final  one.  Could  the  man  have 
had  any  reason  even  dimly  to  foresee  his  own  sudden  death, 
there  would  have  been  a  new  feature  in  his  act  of  intem- 
perance—  a  feature  of  presumption  and  irreverence,  as  in 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  35 

one  that,  having  known  himself  drawing  near  to  the  pres- 
ence of  God,  should  have  suited  his  demeanour  to  an 
expectation  so  awful.  But  this  is  no  part  of  the  case 
supposed.  And  the  only  new  element  in  the  man's  act 
is  not  any  element  of  special'  immorality,  but  simply  of  5 
special  misfortune. 

The  other  remark  has  reference  to  the  meaning  of  the 
word    sudden.      Very    possibly    Caesar    and    the    Christian 
Church  do  not  differ  in  the  way  supposed, — that  is,  do 
not  differ  by  any  difference  of  doctrine  as  between  Pagan  10 
and  Christian  views  of  the  moral  temper  appropriate  to 
death  ;  but  perhaps  they  are  contemplating  different  cases. 
Both   contemplate   a   violent   death,   a   Bia6avaTo<s  —  death 
that   is  /3«xios,  or,   in   other  words,  death  that  is  brought 
about,    not  by  internal    and   spontaneous   change,  but  by  15 
active    force    having    its    origin    from    without.       In    this 
meaning  the  two  authorities  agree.     Thus  far  they  are  in 
harmony.      But  the  difference  is  that  the  Roman  by  the 
word  "  sudden  "  means  unlingering,  whereas  the  Christian 
Litany  by  "sudden  death"  means  a  death  without  warning,  20 
consequently  without  any  available  summons  to  religious 
preparation.     The  poor  mutineer  who  kneels  down  to  gather 
into  his  heart  the  bullets  from  twelve  firelocks  of  his  pity- 
ing comrades  dies  by  a  most  sudden  death  in  Caesar's  sense  ; 
one  shock,  one  mighty  spasm,  one  (possibly  not  one)  groan,  25 
and  all  is  over.     But,  in  the  sense  of  the  Litany,  the  muti- 
neer's death  is  far  from  sudden  :  his  offence  originally,  his 
imprisonment,  his  trial,  the  interval  between  his  sentence 
and  its  execution,  having  all  furnished  him  with  separate 
warnings  of  his  fate  —  having  all  summoned  him  to  meet  30 
it  with  solemn  preparation. 

Here  at  once,  in  this  sharp  verbal  distinction,  we 
comprehend  the  faithful  earnestness  with  which  a  holy 
Christian  Church  pleads  on  behalf  of  her  poor  departing 


36  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCEY 

children  that  God  would  vouchsafe  to  them  the  last  great 
privilege  and  distinction  possible  on  a  death-bed,  viz., 
the  opportunity  of  untroubled  preparation  for  facing  this 
mighty  trial.  Sudden  death,  as  a  mere  variety  in  the  modes 
5  of  dying  where  death  in  some  shape  is  inevitable,  proposes 
a  question  of  choice  which,  equally  in  the  Roman  and  the 
Christian  sense,  will  be  variously  answered  according  to 
each  man's  variety  of  temperament.  Meantime,  one  aspect 
of  sudden  death  there  is,  one  modification,  upon  which  no 

io  doubt  can  arise,  that  of  all  martyrdoms  it  is  the  most  agi- 
tating—  viz.,  where  it  surprises  a  man  under  circumstances 
which  offer  (or  which  seem  to  offer)  some  hurrying,  flying, 
inappreciably  minute  chance  of  evading  it.  Sudden  as  the 
danger  which  it  affronts  must  be  any  effort  by  which  such 

15  an  evasion  can  be  accomplished.  Even  that,  even  the  sick- 
ening necessity  for  hurrying  in  extremity  where  all  hurry 
seems  destined  to  be  vain, — even  that  anguish  is  liable  to 
a  hideous  exasperation  in  one  particular  case  :  viz.,  where 
the  appeal  is  made  not  exclusively  to  the  instinct  of  self- 

20  preservation,  but  to  the  conscience,  on  behalf  of  some  other 
life  besides  your  own,  accidentally  thrown  upon  your  pro- 
tection. To  fail,  to  collapse  in  a  service  merely  your  own, 
might  seem  comparatively  venial ;  though,  in  fact,  it  is  far 
from  venial.      But  to  fail  in  a  case  where  Providence  has 

25  suddenly  thrown  into  your  hands  the  final  interests  of 
another,  —  a  fellow-creature  shuddering  between  the  gates 
of  life  and  death  :  this,  to  a  man  of  apprehensive  conscience, 
would  mingle  the  misery  of  an  atrocious  criminality  with 
the  misery  of  a  bloody  calamity.      You  are  called  upon,  by 

30  the  case  supposed,  possibly  to  die,  but  to  die  at  the  very 
moment  when,  by  any  even  partial  failure  or  effeminate 
collapse  of  your  energies,  you  will  be  self-denounced  as  a 
murderer.  You  had  but  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  for  your 
effort,  and  that  effort  might  have  been  unavailing;  but  to 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


37 


have  risen  to  the  level  of  such  an  effort  would  have  rescued 
you,  though  not  from  dying,  yet  from  dying  as  a  traitor  to 
your  final  and  farewell  duty. 

The  situation  here  contemplated  exposes  a  dreadful  ulcer, 
lurking  far  down  in  the  depths  of  human  nature.  It  is  not  5 
that  men  generally  are  summoned  to  face  such  awful  trials. 
But  potentially,  and  in  shadowy  outline,  such  a  trial  is  mov- 
ing subterraneously  in  perhaps  all  men's  natures.  Upon  the 
secret  mirror  of  our  dreams  such  a  trial  is  darkly  projected, 
perhaps,  to  every  one  of  us.  That  dream,  so  familiar  to  10 
childhood,  of  meeting  a  lion,  and,  through  languishing  pros- 
tration in  hope  and  the  energies  of  hope,  that  constant  sequel 
of  lying  down  before  the  lion  publishes  the  secret  frailty  of 
human  nature  —  reveals  its  deep-seated  falsehood  to  itself  — 
records  its  abysmal  treachery.  Perhaps  not  one  of  us  escapes  15 
that  dream  ;  perhaps,  as  by  some  sorrowful  doom  of  man, 
that  dream  repeats  for  every  one  of  us,  through  every  gen- 
eration, the  original  temptation  in  Eden.  Every  one  of  us, 
in  this  dream,  has  a  bait  offered  to  the  infirm  places  of  his 
own  individual  will ;  once  again  a  snare  is  presented  for  20 
tempting  him  into  captivity  to  a  luxury  of  ruin  ;  once  again, 
as  in  aboriginal  Paradise,  the  man  falls  by  his  own  choice ; 
again,  by  infinite  iteration,  the  ancient  earth  groans  to 
Heaven,  through  her  secret  caves,  over  the  weakness  of  her 
child.  "  Nature,  from  her  seat,  sighing  through  all  her  25 
works,"  again  "  gives  signs  of  woe  that  all  is  lost  " ;  and  again 
the  counter-sigh  is  repeated  to  the  sorrowing  heavens  for  the 
endless  rebellion  against  God.  It  is  not  without  probability 
that  in  the  world  of  dreams  every  one  of  us  ratifies  for  him- 
self the  original  transgression.  In  dreams,  perhaps  under  30 
some  secret  conflict  of  the  midnight  sleeper,  lighted  up  to  the 
consciousness  at  the  time,  but  darkened  to  the  memory  as 
soon  as  all  is  finished,  each  several  child  of  our  mysterious 
race  completes  for  himself  the  treason  of  the  aboriginal  fall. 


38  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

The  incident,  so  memorable  in  itself  by  its  features  of 
horror,  and  so  scenical  by  its  grouping  for  the  eye,  which 
furnished  the  text  for  this  reverie  upon  Sudden  Death 
occurred  to  myself  in  the  dead  of  night,  as  a  solitary  spec- 
5  tator,  when  seated  on  the  box  of  the  Manchester  and  Glas- 
gow mail,  in  the  second  or  third  summer  after  Waterloo.  I 
find  it  necessary  to  relate  the  circumstances,  because  they 
are  such  as  could  not  have  occurred  unless  under  a  singular 
combination  of  accidents.  In  those  days,  the  oblique  and 
io  lateral  communications  with  many  rural  post-offices  were  so 
arranged,  either  through  necessity  or  through  defect  of  sys- 
tem, as  to  make  it  requisite  for  the  main  north-western  mail 
(i.e.,  the  down  mail)  on  reaching  Manchester  to  halt  for  a 
number  of  hours;  how  many,  I  do  not  remember;  six  or 
15  seven,  I  think;  but  the  result  was  that,  in  the  ordinary 
course,  the  mail  recommenced  its  journey  northwards  about 
midnight.  Wearied  with  the  long  detention  at  a  gloomy 
hotel,  I  walked  out  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night  for  the 
sake  of  fresh  air;  meaning  to  fall  in  with  the  mail  and 
20  resume  my  seat  at  the  post-office.  The  night,  however, 
being  yet  dark,  as  the  moon  had  scarcely  risen,  and  the 
streets  being  at  that  hour  empty,  so  as  to  offer  no  oppor- 
tunities for  asking  the  road,  I  lost  my  way,  and  did  not 
reach  the  post-office  until  it  was  considerably  past  mid- 
25  night;  but,  to  my  great  relief  (as  it  was  important  for  me 
to  be  in  Westmoreland  by  the  morning),  I  saw  in  the  huge 
saucer  eyes  of  the  mail,  blazing  through  the  gloom,  an  evi- 
dence that  my  chance  was  not  yet  lost.  Past  the  time  it 
was;  but,  by  some  rare  accident,  the  mail  was  not  even 
30  yet  ready  to  start.  I  ascended  to  my  seat  on  the  box, 
where  my  cloak  was  still  lying  as  it  had  lain  at  the  Bridge- 
water  Arms.  I  had  left  it  there  in  imitation  of  a  nautical 
discoverer,  who  leaves  a  bit  of  bunting  on  the  shore  of 
his  discovery,  by  way  of  warning  off  the  ground  the  whole 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  39 

human  race,  and  notifying  to  the  Christian  and  the  heathen 
worlds,  with  his  best  compliments,  that  he  has  hoisted  his 
pocket-handkerchief  once  and  for  ever  upon  that  virgin 
soil :  thenceforward  claiming  the  jus  dominii  to  the  top  of 
the  atmosphere  above  it,  and  also  the  right  of  driving  5 
shafts  to  the  centre  of  the  earth  below  it ;  so  that  all 
people  found  after  this  warning  either  aloft  in  upper  cham- 
bers of  the  atmosphere,  or  groping  in  subterraneous  shafts, 
or  squatting  audaciously  on  the  surface  of  the  soil,  will  be 
treated  as  trespassers  —  kicked,  that  is  to  say,  or  decap-  10 
itated,  as  circumstances  may  suggest,  by  their  very  faithful 
servant,  the  owner  of  the  said  pocket-handkerchief.  In  the 
present  case,  it  is  probable  that  my  cloak  might  not  have 
been  respected,  and  the  jus  gentium  might  have  been  cruelly 
violated  in  my  person  —  for,  in  the  dark,  people  commit  15 
deeds  of  darkness,  gas  being  a  great  ally  of  morality;  but 
it  so  happened  that  on  this  night  there  was  no  other  out- 
side passenger ;  and  thus  the  crime,  which  else  was  but 
too  probable,  missed  fire  for  want  of  a  criminal. 

Having  mounted  the  box,  I  took  a  small  quantity  of  20 
laudanum,  having  already  travelled  two  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  —  viz.,  from  a  point  seventy  miles  beyond  London.  In 
the  taking  of  laudanum  there  was  nothing  extraordinary. 
But  by  accident  it  drew  upon  me  the  special  attention  of  my 
assessor  on  the  box,  the  coachman.  And  in  that  also  there  25 
was  nothing  extraordinary.  But  by  accident,  and  with  great 
delight,  it  drew  my  own  attention  to  the  fact  that  this 
coachman  was  a  monster  in  point  of  bulk,  and  that  he  had 
but  one  eye.      In  fact,  he  had  been  foretold  by  Virgil  as 

"  Monstrum  horrendum,  informe,  ingens,  cui  lumen  ademption."     30 

He  answered  to  the  conditions  in  every  one  of  the  items: 
—  1,  a  monster  he  was  ;  2,  dreadful ;  3,  shapeless  ;  4,  huge; 
5,  who  had  lost  an  eye.     But  why  should  that  delight  me  ? 


40  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

Had  he  been  one  of  the  Calendars  in  the  "Arabian  Nights," 
and  had  paid  down  his  eye  as  the  price  of  his  criminal  curi- 
osity, what  right  had  /  to  exult  in  his  misfortune  ?  I  did 
not  exult ;  I  delighted  in  no  man's  punishment,  though  it 
5  were  even  merited.  But  these  personal  distinctions  (Xos.  i, 
2>  3>  4>  5)  identified  in  an  instant  an  old  friend  of  mine 
whom  I  had  known  in  the  south  for  some  years  as  the  most 
masterly  of  mail-coachmen.  He  was  the  man  in  all  Europe 
that  could  (if  any  could)  have  driven  six-in-hand  full  gallop 

10  over  Al  Sirat — that  dreadful  bridge  of  Mahomet,  with  no 
side  battlements,  and  of  extra  room  not  enough  for  a  razor's 
edge — leading  right  across  the  bottomless  gulf.  Under 
this  eminent  man,  whom  in  Greek  I  cognominated  Cyclops 
Diphrelates  (Cyclops  the  Charioteer),  I,  and  others  known 

15  to  me,  studied  the  diphrelatic  art.  Excuse,  reader,  a  word 
too  elegant  to  be  pedantic.  As  a  pupil,  though  I  paid  extra 
fees,  it  is  to  be  lamented  that  I  did  not  stand  high  in  his 
esteem.  It  showed  his  dogged  honesty  (though,  observe, 
not  his  discernment)  that  he  could  not  see  my  merits.     Let 

20  us  excuse  his  absurdity  in  this  particular  by  remembering 
his  want  of  an  eye.  Doubtless  that  made  him  blind  to  my 
merits.  In  the  art  of  conversation,  however,  he  admitted 
that  I  had  the  whip-hand  of  him.  On  the  present  occasion 
great  joy  was  at  our  meeting.      But  what  was  Cyclops  doing 

25  here  ?  Had  the  medical  men  recommended  northern  air, 
or  how  ?  I  collected,  from  such  explanations  as  he  volun- 
teered, that  he  had  an  interest  at  stake  in  some  suit-at-law 
now  pending  at  Lancaster  ;  so  that  probably  he  had  got 
himself  transferred  to  this  station  for  the  purpose  of  con- 

30  necting  with  his  professional  pursuits  an  instant  readiness 
for  the  calls  of  his  lawsuit. 

Meantime,  what  are  we  stopping  for  ?  Surely  we  have 
now  waited  long  enough.  Oh,  this  procrastinating  mail,  and 
this  procrastinating  post-office  !     Can't  they  take  a  lesson 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  41 

upon  that  subject  from  me  ?  Some  people  have  called  me 
procrastinating.  Yet  you  are  witness,  reader,  that  I  was 
here  kept  waiting  for  the  post-office.  Will  the  post-office  lay 
its  hand  on  its  heart,  in  its  moments  of  sobriety,  and  assert 
that  ever  it  waited  for  me?  What  are  they  about?  The  5 
guard  tells  me  that  there  is  a  large  extra  accumulation  of 
foreign  mails  this  night,  owing  to  irregularities  caused  by 
war,  by  wind,  by  weather,  in  the  packet  service,  which  as 
yet  does  not  benefit  at  all  by  steam.  For  an  extra  hour,  it 
seems,  the  post-office  has  been  engaged  in  threshing  out  the  10 
pure  wheaten  correspondence  of  Glasgow,  and  winnowing 
it  from  the  chaff  of  all  baser  intermediate  towns.  But  at 
last  all  is  finished.  Sound  your  horn,  guard  !  Manchester, 
good-bye  !  we've  lost  an  hour  by  your  criminal  conduct  at 
the  post-office:  which,  however,  though  I  do  not  mean  to  15 
part  with  a  serviceable  ground  of  complaint,  and  one  which 
really  is  such  for  the  horses,  to  me  secretly  is  an  advantage, 
since  it  compels  us  to  look  sharply  for  this  lost  hour 
amongst  the  next  eight  or  nine,  and  to  recover  it  (if  we 
can)  at  the  rate  of  one  mile  extra  per  hour.  Off  we  are  at  20 
last,  and  at  eleven  miles  an  hour ;  and  for  the  moment  I 
detect  no  changes  in  the  energy  or  in  the  skill  of  Cyclops. 

From  Manchester  to  Kendal,  which  virtually  (though  not 
in  law)  is  the  capital  of  Westmoreland,  there  were  at  this 
time  seven  stages  of  eleven  miles  each.  The  first  five  of  25 
these,  counting  from  Manchester,  terminate  in  Lancaster ; 
which  is  therefore  fifty-five  miles  north  of  Manchester,  and 
the  same  distance  exactly  from  Liverpool.  The  first  three 
stages  terminate  in  Preston  (called,  by  way  of  distinction 
from  other  towns  of  that  name,  Proud  Preston  )  ;  at  which  30 
place  it  is  that  the  separate  roads  from  Liverpool  and  from 
Manchester  to  the  north  become  confluent.1     Within  these 

1"  Confluent"  :  —  Suppose  a  capital   Y    (the    Pythagorean    letter): 
Lancaster  is  at  the  foot  of  this  letter;  Liverpool  at  the  top  of  the 


42  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE  Y 

first  three  stages  lay  the  foundation,  the  progress,  and  termi- 
nation of  our  night's  adventure.  During  the  first  stage,  I 
found  out  that  Cyclops  was  mortal :  he  was  liable  to  the 
shocking  affection  of  sleep —  a  thing  which  previously  I  had 
5  never  suspected.  If  a  man  indulges  in  the  vicious  habit  of 
sleeping,  all  the  skill  in  aurigation  of  Apollo  himself,  with 
the  horses  of  Aurora  to  execute  his  notions,  avails  him  noth- 
ing. "  Oh,  Cyclops  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  thou  art  mortal.  My 
friend,  thou  snorest."    Through  the  first  eleven  miles,  how- 

10  ever,  this  infirmity — which  I  grieve  to  say  that  he  shared 
with  the  whole  Pagan  Pantheon  —  betrayed  itself  only  by 
brief  snatches.  On  waking  up,  he  made  an  apology  for 
himself  which,  instead  of  mending  matters,  laid  open  a 
gloomy  vista  of  coming  disasters.     The  summer  assizes,  he 

15  reminded  me,  were  now  going  on  at  Lancaster:  in  conse- 
quence of  which  for  three  nights  and  three  days  he  had 
not  lain  down  on  a  bed.  During  the  day  he  was  waiting 
for  his  own  summons  as  a  witness  on  the  trial  in  which 
he  was  interested,  or  else,  lest  he  should  be  missing  at  the 

20  critical  moment,  was  drinking  with  the  other  witnesses 
under  the  pastoral  surveillance  of  the  attorneys.  During 
the  night,  or  that  part  of  it  which  at  sea  would  form  the 
middle  watch,  he  was  driving.  This  explanation  certainly 
accounted  for  his  drowsiness,  but  in  a  way  which  made  it 

25  much  more  alarming ;  since  now,  after  several  days'  resist- 
ance to  this  infirmity,  at  length  he  was  steadily  giving  way. 
Throughout  the  second  stage  he  grew  more  and  more 
drowsy.  In  the  second  mile  of  the  third  stage  he  sur- 
rendered   himself    finally   and   without   a    struggle    to    his 

right  branch  ;  Manchester  at  the  top  of  the  left ;  Proud  Preston  at 
the  centre,  where  the  two  branches  unite.  It  is  thirty-three  miles 
along  either  of  the  two  branches  ;  it  is  twenty-two  miles  along  the 
stem,  —  viz.,  from  Preston  in  the  middle  to  Lancaster  at  the  root. 
There's  a  lesson  in  geography  for  the  reader  1 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  43 

perilous  temptation.  All  his  past  resistance  had  but  deepened 
the  weight  of  this  final  oppression.  Seven  atmospheres  of 
sleep  rested  upon  him ;  and,  to  consummate  the  case,  our 
worthy  guard,  after  singing  "Love  amongst  the  Roses" 
for  perhaps  thirty  times,  without  invitation  and  without  5 
applause,  had  in  revenge  moodily  resigned  himself  to 
slumber  —  not  so  deep,  doubtless,  as  the  coachman's,  but 
deep  enough  for  mischief.  And  thus  at  last,  about  ten 
miles  from  Preston,  it  came  about  that  I  found  myself  left 
in  charge  of  his  Majesty's  London  and  Glasgow  mail,  then  10 
running  at  the  least  twelve  miles  an  hour. 

What  made  this  negligence  less  criminal  than  else  it  must 
have  been  thought  was  the  condition  of  the  roads  at  night 
during  the  assizes.     At  that  time,  all  the  law  business  of 
populous  Liverpool,  and  also  of  populous  Manchester,  with  15 
its  vast  cincture  of  populous  rural  districts,  was  called  up 
by  ancient  usage  to  the  tribunal  of  Lilliputian  Lancaster. 
To    break   up    this    old    traditional   usage   required,    1,    a 
conflict  with  powerful  established  interests,  2,  a  large  sys- 
tem  of   new   arrangements,    and   3,    a  new   parliamentary  20 
statute.      But  as  yet  this   change  was  merely  in   contem- 
plation.    As  things  were  at  present,  twice  in  the  year 1  so 
vast  a  body  of  business  rolled  northwards  from  the  south- 
ern quarter  of  the  county  that  for  a  fortnight  at  least  it 
occupied  the  severe  exertions  of  two  judges  in  its  despatch.  25 
The  consequence  of  this  was  that  every  horse  available  for 
such  a  service,  along  the  whole  line  of  road,  was  exhausted 
in  carrying  down  the  multitudes  of  people  who  were  parties 
to  the  different  suits.     By  sunset,  therefore,  it  usually  hap- 
pened  that,  through   utter  exhaustion   amongst   men  and  3° 
horses,  the  road  sank  into  profound  silence.     Except  the 

ll'  Twice  in  the  year" :  —  There  were  at  that  time  only  two  assizes 
even  in  the  most  populous  counties  —  viz.,  the  Lent  Assizes  and  the 
Summer  Assizes. 


44  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

exhaustion  in  the  vast  adjacent  county  of  York  from  a 
contested  election,  no  such  silence  succeeding  to  no  such 
fiery  uproar  was  ever  witnessed  in  England. 

On  this  occasion  the  usual  silence  and  solitude  prevailed 

5  along  the  road.  Not  a  hoof  nor  a  wheel  was  to  be  heard. 
And,  to  strengthen  this  false  luxurious  confidence  in  the 
noiseless  roads,  it  happened  also  that  the  night  was  one  of 
peculiar  solemnity  and  peace.  For  my  own  part,  though 
slightly   alive   to  the  possibilities   of  peril,   I  had   so   far 

10  yielded  to  the  influence  of  the  mighty  calm  as  to  sink 
into  a  profound  reverie.  The  month  was  August ;  in  the 
middle  of  which  lay  my  own  birthday  —  a  festival  to  every 
thoughtful  man  suggesting  solemn  and  often  sigh-born1 
thoughts.      The    county    was    my    own    native    county  — 

15  upon  which,  in  its  southern  section,  more  than  upon  any 
equal  area  known  to  man  past  or  present,  had  descended 
the  original  curse  of  labour  in  its  heaviest  form,  not  master- 
ing the  bodies  only  of  men,  as  of  slaves,  or  criminals  in 
mines,  but  working  through  the  fiery  will.     Upon  no  equal 

20  space  of  earth  was,  or  ever  had  been,  the  same  energy  of 
human  power  put  forth  daily.  At  this  particular  season 
also  of  the  assizes,  that  dreadful  hurricane  of  flight  and 
pursuit,  as  it  might  have  seemed  to  a  stranger,  which  swept 
to  and  from  Lancaster  all  day  long,  hunting  the  county 

25  up  and  down,  and  regularly  subsiding  back  into  silence 
about  sunset,  could  not  fail  (when  united  with  this  perma- 
nent distinction  of  Lancashire  as  the  very  metropolis  and 
citadel  of  labour)  to  point  the  thoughts  pathetically  upon 
that  counter-vision  of  rest,  of  saintly  repose  from  strife  and 

3°  sorrow,  towards  which,  as  to  their  secret  haven,  the  pro- 
founder  aspirations  of  man's  heart  are  in  solitude  continually 

1"  Sigh-born" :  —  I  owe  the  suggestion  of  this  word  to  an  obscure 
remembrance  of  a  beautiful  phrase  in  "  Giraldus  Cambrensis  "  —  viz., 
suspiriosic  cogitationes. 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  45 

travelling.  Obliquely  upon  our  left  we  were  nearing  the 
sea ;  which  also  must,  under  the  present  circumstances,  be 
repeating  the  general  state  of  halcyon  repose.  The  sea, 
the  atmosphere,  the  light,  bore  each  an  orchestral  part  in 
this  universal  lull.  Moonlight  and  the  first  timid  trem-  5 
blings  of  the  dawn  were  by  this  time  blending ;  and  the 
blendings  were  brought  into  a  still  more  exquisite  state  of 
unity  by  a  slight  silvery  mist,  motionless  and  dreamy,  that 
covered  the  woods  and  fields,  but  with  a  veil  of  equable 
transparency.  Except  the  feet  of  our  own  horses, — which,  10 
running  on  a  sandy  margin  of  the  road,  made  but  little 
disturbance,  —  there  was  no  sound  abroad.  In  the  clouds 
and  on  the  earth  prevailed  the  same  majestic  peace  ;  and, 
in  spite  of  all  that  the  villain  of  a  schoolmaster  has  done  for 
the  ruin  of  our  sublimer  thoughts,  which  are  the  thoughts  15 
of  our  infancy,  we  still  believe  in  no  such  nonsense  as  a 
limited  atmosphere.  Whatever  we  may  swear  with  our  false 
feigning  lips,  in  our  faithful  hearts  we  still  believe,  and  must 
for  ever  believe,  in  fields  of  air  traversing  the  total  gulf 
between  earth  and  the  central  heavens.  Still,  in  the  con-  20 
fidence  of  children  that  tread  without  fear  every  chamber 
in  their  father's  house,  and  to  whom  no  door  is  closed,  we, 
in  that  Sabbatic  vision  which  sometimes  is  revealed  for 
an  hour  upon  nights  like  this,  ascend  with  easy  steps  from 
the  sorrow-stricken  fields  of  earth  upwards  to  the  sandals  25 
of  God. 

Suddenly,  from  thoughts  like  these  I  was  awakened  to  a 
sullen  sound,  as  of  some  motion  on  the  distant  road.  It 
stole  upon  the  air  for  a  moment ;  I  listened  in  awe ;  but 
then  it  died  away.  Once  roused,  however,  I  could  not  but  3° 
observe  with  alarm  the  quickened  motion  of  our  horses. 
Ten  years'  experience  had  made  my  eye  learned  in  the 
valuing  of  motion  ;  and  I  saw  that  we  were  now  running 
thirteen  miles  an  hour.     I  pretend  to  no  presence  of  mind. 


46  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

On  the  contrary,  my  fear  is  that  I  am  miserably  and  shame- 
fully deficient  in  that  quality  as  regards  action.  The  palsy 
of  doubt  and  distraction  hangs  like  some  guilty  weight  of 
dark  unfathomed  remembrances  upon  my  energies  when 
5  the  signal  is  flying  for  action.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  this 
accursed  gift  I  have,  as  regards  thought,  that  in  the  first 
step  towards  the  possibility  of  a  misfortune  I  see  its  total 
evolution  ;  in  the  radix  of  the  series  I  see  too  certainly 
and  too  instantly  its  entire  expansion  ;  in  the  first  syllable 

10  of  the  dreadful  sentence  I  read  already  the  last.  It  was 
not  that  I  feared  for  ourselves.  Us  our  bulk  and  impetus 
charmed  against  peril  in  any  collision.  And  I  had  ridden 
through  too  many  hundreds  of  perils  that  were  frightful  to 
approach,  that  were  matter  of  laughter  to  look  back  upon, 

15  the  first  face  of  which  was  horror,  the  parting  face  a  jest  — 
for  any  anxiety  to  rest  upon  our  interests.  The  mail  was 
not  built,  I  felt  assured,  nor  bespoke,  that  could  betray  ?nc 
who  trusted  to  its  protection.  But  any  carriage  that  we 
could  meet  would  be  frail  and  light  in  comparison  of  our- 

20  selves.  And  I  remarked  this  ominous  accident  of  our 
situation, — we  were  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  road.  But 
then,  it  may  be  said,  the  other  party,  if  other  there  was, 
might  also  be  on  the  wrong  side  ;  and  two  wrongs  might 
make  a  right.     That  was  not  likely.     The  same  motive  which 

25  had  drawn  us  to  the  right-hand  side  of  the  road  —  viz.,  the 
luxury  of  the  soft  beaten  sand  as  contrasted  with  the  paved 
centre  —  would  prove  attractive  to  others.  The  two  adverse 
carriages  would  therefore,  to  a  certainty,  be  travelling  on 
the  same  side  ;  and  from  this  side,   as  not  being  ours  in 

30  law,  the  crossing  over  to  the  other  would,  of  course,  be 
looked  for  from  us.1    Our  lamps,  still   lighted,  would  give 

1  It  is  true  that,  according  to  the  law  of  the  case  as  established  by 
legal  precedents,  all  carriages  were  required  to  give  way  before  royal 
equipages,  and   therefore  before  the  mail  as  one  of   them.      But  this 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  47 

the  impression  of  vigilance  on  our  part.  And  every  crea- 
ture that  met  us  would  rely  upon  us  for  quartering.1  All 
this,  and  if  the  separate  links  of  the  anticipation  had  been 
a  thousand  times  more,  I  saw,  not  discursively,  or  by  effort, 
or  by  succession,  but  by  one  flash  of  horrid  simultaneous  5 
intuition. 

Under  this  steady  though  rapid  anticipation  of  the  evil 
which  might  be  gathering  ahead,  ah  !  what  a  sullen  mystery 
of  fear,  what  a  sigh  of  woe,  was  that  which  stole  upon  the 
air,  as  again  the  far-off  sound  of  a  wheel  was  heard  !     A  10 
whisper  it  was  —  a  whisper  from,  perhaps,  four  miles  off  — 
secretly  announcing  a  ruin  that,  being  foreseen,  was  not  the 
less  inevitable  ;  that,  being  known,  was  not  therefore  healed. 
What  could  be  done — who  was  it  that  could  do  it — to  check 
the  storm-flight  of  these  maniacal  horses?     Could  I  not  15 
seize  the  reins  from  the  grasp  of  the  slumbering  coachman  ? 
You,  reader,  think  that  it  would  have  been  in  your  power  to 
do  so.     And  I  quarrel  not  with  your  estimate  of  yourself. 
But,  from  the  way  in  which  the  coachman's  hand  was  viced 
between  his  upper  and  lower  thigh,  this  was  impossible.  20 
Easy  was  it  ?    See,  then,  that  bronze  equestrian  statue.    The 
cruel  rider  has  kept  the  bit  in  his  horse's  mouth  for  two  cen- 
turies.   Unbridle  him  for  a  minute,  if  you  please,  and  wash 
his  mouth  with  water.     Easy  was  it  ?     Unhorse  me,  then, 
that  imperial  rider;  knock  me  those  marble  feet  from  those  25 
marble  stirrups  of  Charlemagne. 

The  sounds  ahead  strengthened,  and  were  now  too  clearly 
the  sounds  of  wheels.  Who  and  what  could  it  be  ?  Was  it 
industry  in  a  taxed  cart  ?    Was  it  youthful  gaiety  in  a  gig  ? 

only  increased  the  danger,  as  being  a  regulation  very  imperfectly  made 
known,  very  unequally  enforced,  and  therefore  often  embarrassing  the 
movements  on  both  sides. 

1 "  Quartering'1'' :  —  This  is  the  technical  word,  and,  I  presume,  derived 
from  the  French  cartayer,  to  evade  a  rut  or  any  obstacle. 


48  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

Was  it  sorrow  that  loitered,  or  joy  that  raced  ?  For  as  yet 
the  snatches  of  sound  were  too  intermitting,  from  distance, 
to  decipher  the  character  of  the  motion.  Whoever  were  the 
travellers,  something  must  be  done  to  warn  them.  Upon 
5  the  other  party  rests  the  active  responsibility,  but  upon  us 
—  and,  woe  is  me!  that  us  was  reduced  to  my  frail  opium- 
shattered  self  —  rests  the  responsibility  of  warning.  Yet, 
how  should  this  be  accomplished  ?  Might  I  not  sound  the 
guard's  horn  ?    Already,  on  the  first  thought,  I  was  making 

10  my  way  over  the  roof  of  the  guard's  seat.  But  this,  from 
the  accident  which  I  have  mentioned,  of  the  foreign  mails 
being  piled  upon  the  roof,  was  a  difficult  and  even  danger- 
ous attempt  to  one  cramped  by  nearly  three  hundred  miles 
of  outside  travelling.     And,  fortunately,  before  I  had  lost 

15  much  time  in  the  attempt,  our  frantic  horses  swept  round 
an  angle  of  the  road  which  opened  upon  us  that  final  stage 
where  the  collision  must  be  accomplished  and  the  catas- 
trophe sealed.  All  was  apparently  finished.  The  court  was 
sitting ;   the  case  was  heard  ;   the  judge  had  finished  ;   and 

20  only  the  verdict  was  yet  in  arrear. 

Before  us  lay  an  avenue  straight  as  an  arrow,  six  hundred 
yards,  perhaps,  in  length  ;  and  the  umbrageous  trees,  which 
rose  in  a  regular  line  from  either  side,  meeting  high  over- 
head, gave  to  it  the  character  of  a  cathedral  aisle.      These 

25  trees  lent  a  deeper  solemnity  to  the  early  light ;  but  there 
was  still  light  enough  to  perceive,  at  the  further  end  of  this 
Gothic  aisle,  a  frail  reedy  gig,  in  which  were  seated  a  young 
man,  and  by  his  side  a  young  lady.  Ah,  young  sir  !  what 
are  you  about  ?     If  it  is  requisite  that  you  should  whisper 

30  your  communications  to  this  young  lady  —  though  really  I 
see  nobody,  at  an  hour  and  on  a  road  so  solitary,  likely  to 
overhear  you  —  is  it  therefore  requisite  that  you  should 
carry  your  lips  forward  to  hers  ?  The  little  carriage  is 
creeping  on  at  one  mile  an  hour ;  and  the  parties  within  it, 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  49 

being  thus  tenderly  engaged,  are  naturally  bending  down 
their  heads.  Between  them  and  eternity,  to  all  human 
calculation,  there  is  but  a  minute  and  a  half.  Oh  heavens  ! 
what  is  it  that  I  shall  do  ?  Speaking  or  acting,  what  help 
can  I  offer  ?  Strange  it  is,  and  to  a  mere  auditor  of  the  5 
tale  might  seem  laughable,  that  I  should  need  a  suggestion 
from  the  "Iliad"  to  prompt  the  sole  resource  that  remained. 
Yet  so  it  was.  Suddenly  I  remembered  the  shout  of  Achilles, 
and  its  effect.  But  could  I  pretend  to  shout  like  the  son  of 
Peleus,  aided  by  Pallas  ?  No :  but  then  I  needed  not  the  10 
shout  that  should  alarm  all  Asia  militant ;  such  a  shout 
would  suffice  as  might  carry  terror  into  the  hearts  of  two 
thoughtless  young  people  and  one  gig-horse.  I  shouted  — 
and  the  young  man  heard  me  not.  A  second  time  I  shouted 
—  and  now  he  heard  me,  for  now  he  raised  his  head.  15 

Here,  then,  all  had  been  done  that,  by  me,  could  be  done  ; 
more  on  my  part  was  not  possible.  Mine  had  been  the  first 
step  ;  the  second  was  for  the  young  man  ;  the  third  was  for 
God.  If,  said  I,  this  stranger  is  a  brave  man,  and  if  indeed 
he  loves  the  young  girl  at  his  side  —  or,  loving  her  not,  if  20 
he  feels  the  obligation,  pressing  upon  every  man  worthy  to 
be  called  a  man,  of  doing  his  utmost  for  a  woman  confided 
to  his  protection  —  he  will  at  least  make  some  effort  to  save 
her.  If  that  fails,  he  will  not  perish  the  more,  or  by  a  death 
more  cruel,  for  having  made  it ;  and  he  will  die  as  a  brave  25 
man  should,  with  his  face  to  the  danger,  and  with  his  arm 
about  the  woman  that  he  sought  in  vain  to  save.  But,  if 
he  makes  no  effort,  — shrinking  without  a  struggle  from  his 
duty,  —  he  himself  will  not  the  less  certainly  perish  for  this 
baseness  of  poltroonery.  He  will  die  no  less :  and  why  not  ?  30 
Wherefore  should  we  grieve  that  there  is  one  craven  less  in 
the  world  ?  No  -'let  him  perish,  without  a  pitying  thought 
of  ours  wasted  upon  him;  and,  in  that  case,  all  our  grief 
will  be  reserved  for  the  fate  of  the  helpless  girl  who  now, 


50  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE  V 

upon  the  least  shadow  of  failure  in  him,  must  by  the  fiercest 
of  translations  —  must  without  time  for  a  prayer  —  must 
within  seventy  seconds — stand  before  the  judgment-seat 
of  God. 
5  But  craven  he  was  not :  sudden  had  been  the  call  upon 
him,  and  sudden  was  his  answer  to  the  call.  He  saw,  he 
heard,  he  comprehended,  the  ruin  that  was  coming  down  : 
already  its  gloomy  shadow  darkened  above  him  ;  and  already 
he  was  measuring  his  strength  to  deal  with  it.    Ah  !  what  a 

10  vulgar  thing  does  courage  seem  when  we  see  nations  buying 
it  and  selling  it  for  a  shilling  a-day :  ah  !  what  a  sublime 
thing  does  courage  seem  when  some  fearful  summons  on 
the  great  deeps  of  life  carries  a  man,  as  if  running  before  a 
hurricane,  up  to  the  giddy  crest  of  some  tumultuous  crisis 

15  from  which  lie  two  courses,  and  a  voice  says  to  him  audibly, 
"One  way  lies  hope;  take  the  other,  and  mourn  for  ever!" 
How  grand  a  triumph  if,  even  then,  amidst  the  raving  of  all 
around  him,  and  the  frenzy  of  the  danger,  the  man  is  able  to 
confront  his  situation  —  is  able  to  retire  for  a  moment  into 

20  solitude  with  God,  and  to  seek  his  counsel  from  Him  ! 

For  seven  seconds,  it  might  be,  of  his  seventy,  the  stranger 
settled  his  countenance  steadfastly  upon  us,  as  if  to  search 
and  value  every  element  in  the  conflict  before  him.  For 
five  seconds  more  of  his  seventy  he  sat  immovably,  like  one 

25  that  mused  on  some  great  purpose.  For  five  more,  perhaps, 
he  sat  with  eyes  upraised,  like  one  that  prayed  in  sorrow, 
under  some  extremity  of  doubt,  for  light  that  should  guide 
him  to  the  better  choice.  Then  suddenly  he  rose  ;  stood 
upright ;   and,  by  a  powerful  strain  upon  the  reins,  raising 

30  his  horse's  fore-feet  from  the  ground,  he  slewed  him  round 
on  the  pivot  of  his  hind-legs,  so  as  to  plant  the  little  equi- 
page in  a  position  nearly  at  right  angles  to  ours.  Thus  far 
his  condition  was  not  improved  ;  except  as  a  first  step  had 
been  taken  towards  the  possibility  of  a  second.     If  no  more 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  51 

were  done,  nothing  was  done ;  for  the  little  carriage  still 
occupied  the  very  centre  of  our  path,  though  in  an  altered 
direction.  Yet  even  now  it  may  not  be  too  late :  fifteen 
of  the  seventy  seconds  may  still  be  unexhausted  ;  and  one 
almighty  bound  may  avail  to ,  clear  the  ground.  Hurry,  5 
then,  hurry!  for  the  flying  moments • — they  hurry.  Oh, 
hurry,  hurry,  my  brave  young  man  !  for  the  cruel  hoofs  of 
our  horses  —  they  also  hurry  !  Fast  are  the  flying  moments, 
faster  are  the  hoofs  of  our  horses.  But  fear  not  for  him, 
if  human  energy  can  suffice;  faithful  was  he  that  drove  to  10 
his  terrific  duty ;  faithful  was  the  horse  to  his  command. 
One  blow,  one  impulse  given  with  voice  and  hand,  by  the 
stranger,  one  rush  from  the  horse,  one  bound  as  if  in  the 
act  of  rising  to  a  fence,  landed  the  docile  creature's  fore- 
feet upon  the  crown  or  arching  centre  of  the  road.  The  15 
larger  half  of  the  little  equipage  had  then  cleared  our  over- 
towering  shadow:  that  was  evident  even  to  my  own  agitated 
sight.  But  it  mattered  little  that  one  wreck  should  float  off 
in  safety  if  upon  the  wreck  that  perished  were  embarked 
the  human  freightage.  The  rear  part  of  the  carriage —  20 
was  that  certainly  beyond  the  line  of  absolute  ruin  ?  What 
power  could  answer  the  question  ?  Glance  of  eye,  thought 
of  man,  wing  of  angel,  which  of  these  had  speed  enough  to 
sweep  between  the  question  and  the  answer,  and  divide  the 
one  from  the  other  ?  Light  does  not  tread  upon  the  steps  25 
of  light  more  indivisibly  than  did  our  all-conquering  arrival 
upon  the  escaping  efforts  of  the  gig.  That  must  the  young 
man  have  felt  too  plainly.  His  back  was  now  turned  to 
us  ;  not  by  sight  could  he  any  longer  communicate  with  the 
peril ;  but,  by  the  dreadful  rattle  of  our  harness,  too  truly  30 
had  his  ear  been  instructed  that  all  was  finished  as  regarded 
any  effort  of  his.  Already  in  resignation  he  had  rested 
from  his  struggle  ;  and  perhaps  in  his  heart  he  was  whisper- 
ing, "Father,  which  art  in  heaven,  do  Thou  finish  above 


52  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

what  I  on  earth  have  attempted."  Faster  than  ever  mill- 
race  we  ran  past  them  in  our  inexorable  flight.  Oh,  raving 
of  hurricanes  that  must  have  sounded  in  their  young  ears 
at  the  moment  of  our  transit !  Even  in  that  moment  the 
S  thunder  of  collision  spoke  aloud.  Either  with  the  swingle- 
bar,  or  with  the  haunch  of  our  near  leader,  we  had  struck 
the  off-wheel  of  the  little  gig  ;  which  stood  rather  obliquely, 
and  not  quite  so  far  advanced  as  to  be  accurately  parallel 
with  the  near-wheel.     The  blow,  from  the  fury  of  our  pas- 

io  sage,  resounded  terrifically.  I  rose  in  horror,  to  gaze  upon 
the  ruins  we  might  have  caused.  From  my  elevated  station 
I  looked  down,  and  looked  back  upon  the  scene  ;  which  in 
a  moment  told  its  own  tale,  and  wrote  all  its  records  on 
my  heart  for  ever. 

15  Here  was  the  map  of  the  passion  that  now  had  finished. 
The  horse  was  planted  immovably,  with  his  fore-feet  upon 
the  paved  crest  of  the  central  road.  He  of  the  whole  party 
might  be  supposed  untouched  by  the  passion  of  death.  The 
little  cany  carriage  —  partly,  perhaps,  from  the  violent  tor- 

20  sion  of  the  wheels  in  its  recent  movement,  partly  from  the 
thundering  blow  we  had  given  to  it  —  as  if  it  sympathised 
with  human  horror,  was  all  alive  with  tremblings  and  shiver- 
ings.  The  young  man  trembled  not,  nor  shivered.  He  sat 
like  a  rock.      But  his  was  the  steadiness  of  agitation  frozen 

25  into  rest  by  horror.  As  yet  he  dared  not  to  look  round  ;  for 
he  knew  that,  if  anything  remained  to  do,  by  him  it  could 
no  longer  be  done.      And  as  yet  he  knew  not  for  certain  if 

their  safety  were  accomplished.      But  the  lady 

But  the  lady !  Oh,  heavens!  will  that  spectacle  ever 

30  depart  from  my  dreams,  as  she  rose  and  sank  upon  her  seat, 
sank  and  rose,  threw  up  her  arms  wildly  to  heaven,  clutched 
at  some  visionary  object  in  the  air,  fainting,  praying,  raving, 
despairing  ?  Figure  to  yourself,  reader,  the  elements  of  the 
case  ;  suffer  me  to  recall  before  your  mind  the  circumstances 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  53 

of  that  unparalleled  situation.  From  the  silence  and  deep 
peace  of  this  saintly  summer  night  —  from  the  pathetic 
blending  of  this  sweet  moonlight,  dawnlight,  dreamlight  — 
from  the  manly  tenderness  of  this  flattering,  whispering, 
murmuring  love  —  suddenly  as1  from  the  woods  and  fields  5 
—  suddenly  as  from  the  chambers  of  the  air  opening  in 
revelation — suddenly  as  from  the  ground  yawning  at  her 
feet,  leaped  upon  her,  with  the  flashing  of  cataracts,  Death 
the  crowned  phantom,  with  all  the  equipage  of  his  terrors, 
and  the  tiger  roar  of  his  voice.  10 

The  moments  were  numbered ;  the  strife  was  finished  ; 
the  vision  was  closed.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  our 
flying  horses  had  carried  us  to  the  termination  of  the 
umbrageous  aisle  ;  at  the  right  angles  we  wheeled  into  our 
former  direction;  the  turn  of  the  road  carried  the  scene  15 
out  of  my  eyes  in  an  instant,  and  swept  it  into  my  dreams 
for  ever. 

Section  III  —  Dream-Fugue: 

FOUNDED    ON    THE    PRECEDING    THEME    OF    SUDDEN    DEATH 

"  Whence  the  sound 
Of  instruments,  that  made  melodious  chime, 
Was  heard,  of  harp  and  organ  ;  and  who  moved  20 

Their  stops  and  chords  was  seen ;  his  volant  touch 
Instinct  through  all  proportions,  low  and  high, 
Fled  and  pursued  transverse  the  resonant  fugue." 

Par.  Lost,  Bk.  XI. 

Tumultuosissimatnente 

Passion  of  sudden  death  !  that  once  in  youth  I  read  and 
interpreted  by  the  shadows  of  thy  averted  signs l !  —  rapture  25 

1  '■'■Averted  signs" :  —  I  read  the  course  and  changes  of  the  lady's 
agony  in  the  succession  of  her  involuntary  gestures;  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  I  read  all  this  from  the  rear,  never  once  catching  the 
lady's  full  face,  and  even  her  profile  imperfectly. 


54  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

of  panic  taking  the  shape  (which  amongst  tombs  in  churches 
I  have  seen)  of  woman  bursting  her  sepulchral  bonds  —  of 
woman's  Ionic  form  bending  forward  from  the  ruins  of  her 
grave  with  arching  foot,  with  eyes  upraised,  with  clasped 

5  adoring  hands  —  waiting,  watching,  trembling,  praying  for 
the  trumpet's  call  to  rise  from  dust  for  ever  I  Ah,  vision 
too  fearful  of  shuddering  humanity  on  the  brink  of  almighty 
abysses  !  —  vision  that  didst  start  back,  that  didst  reel  away, 
like  a  shrivelling  scroll  from  before  the  wrath  of  fire  racing 

10  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  !  Epilepsy  so  brief  of  horror, 
wherefore  is  it  that  thou  canst  not  die  ?  Passing  so  sud- 
denly into  darkness,  wherefore  is  it  that  still  thou  shed- 
dest  thy  sad  funeral  blights  upon  the  gorgeous  mosaics  of 
dreams  ?     Fragment  of  music  too  passionate,  heard  once, 

15  and  heard  no  more,  what  aileth  thee,  that  thy  deep  rolling 
chords  come  up  at  intervals  through  all  the  worlds  of  sleep, 
and  after  forty  years  have  lost  no  element  of  horror  ? 


Lo,  it  is  summer  — almighty  summer!     The  everlasting 
gates  of  life  and  summer  are  thrown  open  wide  ;  and  on  the 

20  ocean,  tranquil  and  verdant  as  a  savannah,  the  unknown 
lady  from  the  dreadful  vision  and  I  myself  are  floating  — 
she  upon  a  fairy  pinnace,  and  I  upon  an  English  three- 
decker.  Both  of  us  are  wooing  gales  of  festal  happiness 
within  the  domain   of    our  common   country,   within  that 

25  ancient  watery  park,  within  the  pathless  chase  of  ocean, 
where  England  takes  her  pleasure  as  a  huntress  through 
winter  and  summer,  from  the  rising  to  the  setting  sun. 
Ah,  what  a  wilderness  of  lloral  beauty  was  hidden,  or  was 
suddenly  revealed,  upon  the  tropic  islands  through  which 

30  the  pinnace  moved  !  And  upon  her  deck  what  a  bevy  of 
human  flowers  :   young  women  how  lovely,  young  men  how 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  55 

noble,  that  were  dancing  together,  and  slowly  drifting 
towards  us  amidst  music  and  incense,  amidst  blossoms 
from  forests  and  gorgeous  corymbi  from  vintages,  amidst 
natural  carolling,  and  the  echoes  of  sweet  girlish  laughter. 
Slowly  the  pinnace  nears  us,  gaily  she  hails  us,  and  silently  5 
she  disappears  beneath  the  shadow  of  our  mighty  bows. 
But  then,  as  at  some  signal  from  heaven,  the  music,  and 
the  carols,  and  the  sweet  echoing  of  girlish  laughter  —  all 
are  hushed.  What  evil  has  smitten  the  pinnace,  meeting 
or  overtaking  her  ?  Did  ruin  to  our  friends  couch  within  10 
our  own  dreadful  shadow  ?  Was  our  shadow  the  shadow 
of  death  ?  I  looked  over  the  bow  for  an  answer,  and, 
behold  !  the  pinnace  was  dismantled  ;  the  revel  and  the 
revellers  were  found  no  more ;  the  glory  of  the  vintage  was 
dust;  and  the  forests  with  their  beauty  were  left  without  a  15 
witness  upon  the  seas.  "But  where,"  and  I  turned  to  our 
crew  —  "where  are  the  lovely  women  that  danced  beneath 
the  awning  of  flowers  and  clustering  corymbi  ?  Whither 
have  fled  the  noble  young  men  that  danced  with  them  ?  " 
Answer  there  was  none.  But  suddenly  the  man  at  the  20 
mast-head,  whose  countenance  darkened  with  alarm,  cried 
out,  "  Sail  on  the  weather  beam  !  Down  she  comes  upon 
us  :  in  seventy  seconds  she  also  will  founder." 

II 

I  looked  to  the  weather  side,  and  the  summer  had 
departed.  The  sea  was  rocking,  and  shaken  with  gather-  25 
ing  wrath.  Upon  its  surface  sat  mighty  mists,  which 
grouped  themselves  into  arches  and  long  cathedral  aisles. 
Down  one  of  these,  with  the  fiery  pace  of  a  quarrel  from  a 
cross-bow,  ran  a  frigate  right  athwart  our  course.  "  Are 
they  mad?"  some  voice  exclaimed  from  our  deck.  "Do  30 
they  woo  their  ruin  ? "     But  in  a  moment,  as  she  was  close 


56  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCEY 

upon  us,  some  impulse  of  a  heady  current  or  local  vortex 
gave  a  wheeling  bias  to  her  course,  and  off  she  forged  with- 
out a  shock.  As  she  ran  past  us,  high  aloft  amongst  the 
shrouds  stood  the  lady  of  the  pinnace.     The  deeps  opened 

5  ahead  in  malice  to  receive  her,  towering  surges  of  foam 
ran  after  her,  the  billows  were  fierce  to  catch  her.  But 
far  away  she  was  borne  into  desert  spaces  of  the  sea: 
whilst  still  by  sight  I  followed  her,  as  she  ran  before  the 
howling  gale,  chased  by  angry  sea-birds  and  by  madden- 

10  ing  billows  ;  still  I  saw  her,  as  at  the  moment  when  she 
ran  past  us,  standing  amongst  the  shrouds,  with  her  white 
draperies  streaming  before  the  wind.  There  she  stood, 
with  hair  dishevelled,  one  hand  clutched  amongst  the  tack- 
ling—  rising,  sinking,  fluttering,  trembling,  praying;  there 

15  for  leagues  I  saw  her  as  she  stood,  raising  at  intervals  one 
hand  to  heaven,  amidst  the  fiery  crests  of  the  pursuing 
waves  and  the  raving  of  the  storm  ;  until  at  last,  upon  a 
sound  from  afar  of  malicious  laughter  and  mockery,  all 
was  hidden  for  ever  in  driving  showers  ;  and  afterwards, 

20  but  when  I  knew  not,  nor  how, 

III 

Sweet  funeral  bells  from  some  incalculable  distance,  wail- 
ing over  the  dead  that  die  before  the  dawn,  awakened  me 
as  I  slept  in  a  boat  moored  to  some  familiar  shore.  The 
morning  twilight  even   then  was   breaking  ;    and,  by  the 

25  dusky  revelations  which  it  spread,  I  saw  a  girl,  adorned 
with  a  garland  of  white  roses  about  her  head  for  some 
great  festival,  running  along  the  solitary  strand  in  extrem- 
ity of  haste.  Her  running  was  the  running  of  panic  ;  and 
often  she  looked  back  as  to  some  dreadful  enemy  in  the 

30  rear.  But,  when  I  leaped  ashore,  and  followed  on  her  steps 
to  warn  her  of  a  peril  in  front,  alas  !  from  me  she  lied  as 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  57 

from  another  peril,  and  vainly  I  shouted  to  her  of  quick- 
sands that  lay  ahead.  Faster  and  faster  she  ran  ;  round  a 
promontory  of  rocks  she  wheeled  out  of  sight ;  in  an  instant 
I  also  wheeled  round  it,  but  only  to  see  the  treacherous 
sands  gathering  above  her  head.  Already  her  person  was  5 
buried ;  only  the  fair  young  head  and  the  diadem  of  white 
roses  around  it  were  still  visible  to  the  pitying  heavens ; 
and,  last  of  all,  was  visible  one  white  marble  arm.  I  saw 
by  the  early  twilight  this  fair  young  head,  as  it  was  sinking 
down  to  darkness  —  saw  this  marble  arm,  as  it  rose  above  10 
her  head  and  her  treacherous  grave,  tossing,  faltering,  ris- 
ing, clutching,  as  at  some  false  deceiving  hand  stretched 
out  from  the  clouds  —  saw  this  marble  arm  uttering  her 
dying  hope,  and  then  uttering  her  dying  despair.  The 
head,  the  diadem,  the  arm- — these  all  had  sunk;  at  last  15 
over  these  also  the  cruel  quicksand  had  closed  ;  and  no 
memorial  of  the  fair  young  girl  remained  on  earth,  except 
my  own  solitary  tears,  and  the  funeral  bells  from  the  desert 
seas,  that,  rising  again  more  softly,  sang  a  requiem  over 
the  grave  of  the  buried  child,  and  over  her  blighted  dawn.  20 

I  sat,  and  wept  in  secret  the  tears  that  men  have  ever 
given  to  the  memory  of  those  that  died  before  the  dawn, 
and  by  the  treachery  of  earth,  our  mother.  But  suddenly 
the  tears  and  funeral  bells  were  hushed  by  a  shout  as  of 
many  nations,  and  by  a  roar  as  from  some  great  king's  25 
artillery,  advancing  rapidly  along  the  valleys,  and  heard 
afar  by  echoes  from  the  mountains.  "  Hush!  "  I  said,  as  I 
bent  my  ear  earthwards  to  listen  —  "hush!  —  this  either  is 
the  very  anarchy  of  strife,  or  else  " — and  then  I  listened 
more  profoundly,  and  whispered  as  I  raised  my  head —  30 
"or  else,  oh  heavens!  it  is  victory  that  is  final,  victory  that 
swallows  up  all  strife." 


5S  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCEY 

IV 

Immediately,  in  trance,  I  was  carried  over  land  and  sea 
to  some  distant  kingdom,  and  placed  upon  a  triumphal  car, 
amongst  companions  crowned  with  laurel.  The  darkness 
of  gathering  midnight,  brooding  over  all  the  land,  hid  from 
5  us  the  mighty  crowds  that  were  weaving  restlessly  about 
ourselves  as  a  centre :  we  heard  them,  but  saw  them  not. 
Tidings  had  arrived,  within  an  hour,  of  a  grandeur  that 
measured  itself  against  centuries ;  too  full  of  pathos  they 
were,  too  full  of  joy,  to  utter  themselves  by  other  language 

io  than  by  tears,  by  restless  anthems,  and  Te  Dcums  reverber- 
ated from  the  choirs  and  orchestras  of  earth.  These  tid- 
ings we  that  sat  upon  the  laurelled  car  had  it  for  our 
privilege  to  publish  amongst  all  nations.  And  already, 
by  signs  audible  through  the  darkness,  by  snortings  and 

15  tramplings,  our  angry  horses,  that  knew  no  fear  or  fleshly 
weariness,  upbraided  us  with  delay.  Wherefore  was  it  that 
we  delayed  ?  We  waited  for  a  secret  word,  that  should 
bear  witness  to  the  hope  of  nations  as  now  accomplished 
for  ever.     At   midnight   the  secret  word    arrived;    which 

20  word  was  —  Waterloo  and  Recovered  Christendom  !  The 
dreadful  word  shone  by  its  own  light ;  before  us  it  went ; 
high  above  our  leaders'  heads  it  rode,  and  spread  a  golden 
light  over  the  paths  which  we  traversed.  Every  city,  at 
the  presence  of  the  secret  word,  threw  open  its  gates.    The 

25  rivers  were  conscious  as  we  crossed.  All  the  forests,  as  we 
ran  along  their  margins,  shivered  in  homage  to  the  secret 
word.     And  the  darkness  comprehended  it. 

Two    hours    after    midnight   we    approached    a    mighty 
Minster.      Its  gates,  which  rose  to  the  clouds,  were  closed. 

30  Hut,  when  the  dreadful  word  that  rode  before  us  reached 
them  with  its  golden  light,  silently  they  moved  back  upon 
their  hinges  ;  and  at  a  flying  gallop  our  equipage  entered 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  59 

the  grand  aisle  of  the  cathedral.  Headlong  was  our  pace  ; 
and  at  every  altar,  in  the  little  chapels  and  oratories  to  the 
right  hand  and  left  of  our  course,  the  lamps,  dying  or  sick- 
ening, kindled  anew  in  sympathy  with  the  secret  word  that 
was  flying  past.  Forty  leagues  we  might  have  run  in  the  5 
cathedral,  and  as  yet  no  strength  of  morning  light  had 
reached  us,  when  before  us  we  saw  the  aerial  galleries 
of  organ  and  choir.  Every  pinnacle  of  fretwork,  every 
station  of  advantage  amongst  the  traceries,  was  crested 
by  white-robed  choristers  that  sang  deliverance;  that  wept  10 
no  more  tears,  as  once  their  fathers  had  wept ;  but  at 
intervals  that  sang  together  to  the  generations,  saying, 

"  Chant  the  deliverer's  praise  in  every  tongue," 

and  receiving  answers  from  afar, 

"  Such  as  once  in  heaven  and  earth  were  sung."  15 

And  of  their  chanting  was  no  end  ;  of  our  headlong  pace 
was  neither  pause  nor  slackening. 

Thus  as  we  ran  like  torrents  —  thus  as  we  swept  with 
bridal  rapture  over  the   Campo   Santo x  of  the  cathedral 
graves  —  suddenly  we  became  aware  of  a  vast  necropolis  20 
rising  upon  the  far-off  horizon  —  a  city  of  sepulchres,  built 
within   the   saintly   cathedral   for   the  warrior    dead    that 

1  "Campo  Santo":  —  It  is  probable  that  most  of  my  readers  will 
be  acquainted  with  the  history  of  the  Campo  Santo  (or  cemetery)  at 
Pisa,  composed  of  earth  brought  from  Jerusalem  from  a  bed  of  sanc- 
tity as  the  highest  prize  which  the  noble  piety  of  crusaders  could 
ask  or  imagine.  To  readers  who  are  unacquainted  with  England,  or 
who  (being  English)  are  yet  unacquainted  with  the  cathedral  cities  of 
England,  it  may  be  right  to  mention  that  the  graves  within-side  the 
cathedrals  often  form  a  flat  pavement  over  which  carriages  and  horses 
might  run ;  and  perhaps  a  boyish  remembrance  of  one  particular  cathe- 
dral, across  which  I  had  seen  passengers  walk  and  burdens  carried,  as 
about  two  centuries  back  they  were  through  the  middle  of  St.  Paul's 
in  London,  may  have  assisted  my  dream. 


60  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

rested  from  their  feuds  on  earth.  Of  purple  granite  was 
the  necropolis  ;  yet,  in  the  first  minute,  it  lay  like  a  purple 
stain  upon  the  horizon,  so  mighty  was  the  distance.  In 
the  second  minute  it  trembled  through  many  changes, 
5  growing  into  terraces  and  towers  of  wondrous  altitude, 
so  mighty  was  the  pace.  In  the  third  minute  already,  with 
our  dreadful  gallop,  we  were  entering  its  suburbs.  Vast 
sarcophagi  rose  on  every  side,  having  towers  and  turrets 
that,  upon  the  limits  of  the  central  aisle,  strode  forward 

10  with  haughty  intrusion,  that  ran  back  with  mighty  shad- 
ows into  answering  recesses.  Every  sarcophagus  showed 
many  bas-reliefs — bas-reliefs  of  battles  and  of  battle-fields; 
battles  from  forgotten  ages,  battles  from  yesterday ;  battle- 
fields that,  long  since,  nature  had  healed  and  reconciled  to 

15  herself  with  the  sweet  oblivion  of  flowers;  battle-fields  that 
were  yet  angry  and  crimson  with  carnage.  Where  the 
terraces  ran,  there  did  we  run  ;  where  the  towers  curved, 
there  did  we  curve.  With  the  flight  of  swallows  our  horses 
swept  round  every  angle.     Like  rivers  in  flood  wheeling 

20  round  headlands,  like  hurricanes  that  ride  into  the  secrets 
of  forests,  faster  than  ever  light  unwove  the  mazes  of  dark- 
ness, our  flying  equipage  carried  earthly  passions,  kindled 
warrior  instincts,  amongst  the  dust  that  lay  around  us  — 
dust  oftentimes  of  our  noble  fathers  that  had  slept  in  God 

25  from  Cre'cy  to  Trafalgar.  And  now  had  we  reached  the 
last  sarcophagus,  now  were  we  abreast  of  the  last  bas-relief, 
already  had  we  recovered  the  arrow-like  flight  of  the  illim- 
itable central  aisle,  when  coming  up  this  aisle  to  meet  us 
we  beheld  afar  off  a  female  child,  that  rode  in  a  carriage 

30  as  frail  as  flowers.  The  mists  which  went  before  her  hid 
the  fawns  that  drew  her,  but  could  not  hide  the  shells  and 
tropic  flowers  with  which  she  played  —  but  could  not  hide 
the  lovely  smiles  by  which  she  uttered  her  trust  in  the 
mighty  cathedral,  and  in  the  cherubim  that  looked  down 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  6t 

upon  her  from  the  mighty  shafts  of  its  pillars.  Face  to 
face  she  was  meeting  us;  face  to  face  she  rode,  as  if  danger 
there  were  none.  "Oh,  baby!"  I  exclaimed,  "shalt  thou 
be  the  ransom  for  Waterloo  ?  Must  we,  that  carry  tidings 
of  great  joy  to  every  people,  be  messengers  of  ruin  to  5 
thee  !  "  In  horror  I  rose  at  the  thought ;  but  then  also,  in 
horror  at  the  thought,  rose  one  that  was  sculptured  on  a 
bas-relief  — a  Dying  Trumpeter.  Solemnly  from  the  field 
of  battle  he  rose  to  his  feet ;  and,  unslinging  his  stony 
trumpet,  carried  it,  in  his  dying  anguish,  to  his  stony  lips  10 
—  sounding  once,  and  yet  once  again  ;  proclamation  that, 
in  thy  ears,  oh  baby !  spoke  from  the  battlements  of  death. 
Immediately  deep  shadows  fell  between  us,  and  aboriginal 
silence.  The  choir  had  ceased  to  sing.  The  hoofs  of 
our  horses,  the  dreadful  rattle  of  our  harness,  the  groan-  15 
ing  of  our  wheels,  alarmed  the  graves  no  more.  By  horror 
the  bas-relief  had  been  unlocked  unto  life.  By  horror  we, 
that  were  so  full  of  life,  we  men  and  our  horses,  with  their 
fiery  fore-legs  rising  in  mid  air  to  their  everlasting  gallop, 
were  frozen  to  a  bas-relief.  Then  a  third  time  the  trumpet  20 
sounded  ;  the  seals  were  taken  off  all  pulses  ;  life,  and  the 
frenzy  of  life,  tore  into  their  channels  again  ;  again  the 
choir  burst  forth  in  sunny  grandeur,  as  from  the  muffling 
of  storms  and  darkness  ;  again  the  thunderings  of  our 
horses  carried  temptation  into  the  graves.  One  cry  burst  25 
from  our  lips,  as  the  clouds,  drawing  off  from  the  aisle, 
showed  it  empty  before  us.  — "  Whither  has  the  infant 
fled  ?  —  is  the  young  child  caught  up  to  God  ?  "  Lo  !  afar 
off,  in  a  vast  recess,  rose  three  mighty  windows  to  the 
clouds ;  and  on  a  level  with  their  summits,  at  height  30 
insuperable  to  man,  rose  an  altar  of  purest  alabaster. 
On  its  eastern  face  was  trembling  a  crimson  glory.  A 
glory  was  it  from  the  reddening  dawn  that  now  streamed 
through  the  windows  ?     Was  it  from  the  crimson  robes  of 


62  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE  Y 

the  martyrs  painted  on  the  windows  ?  Was  it  from  the 
bloody  bas-reliefs  of  earth  ?  There,  suddenly,  within  that 
crimson  radiance,  rose  the  apparition  of  a  woman's  head, 
and  then  of  a  woman's  figure.  The  child  it  was  —  grown 
5  up  to  woman's  height.  Clinging  to  the  horns  of  the  altar, 
voiceless  she  stood  —  sinking,  rising,  raving,  despairing ; 
and  behind  the  volume  of  incense  that,  night  and  day, 
streamed  upwards  from  the  altar,  dimly  was  seen  the  fiery 
font,  and  the  shadow  of  that  dreadful  being  who  should 

10  have  baptized  her  with  the  baptism  of  death.  But  by  her 
side  was  kneeling  her  better  angel,  that  hid  his  face  with 
wings;  that  wept  and  pleaded  for  her;  that  prayed  when 
she  could  not;  that  fought  with  Heaven  by  tears  for  her 
deliverance;  which  also,  as  he  raised  his  immortal  counte- 

15  nance  from  his  wings,  I  saw,  by  the  glory  in  his  eye,  that 
from  Heaven  he  had  won  at  last. 


V 

Then  was  completed  the  passion  of  the  mighty  fugue. 
The  golden  tubes  of  the  organ,  which  as  yet  had  but  mut- 
tered at  intervals  —  gleaming  amongst  clouds  and  surges 

20  of  incense  —  threw  up,  as  from  fountains  unfathomable, 
columns  of  heart-shattering  music.  Choir  and  anti-choir 
were  filling  fast  with  unknown  voices.  Thou  also,  Dying 
Trumpeter,  with  thy  love  that  was  victorious,  and  thy 
anguish  that  was  finishing,  didst  enter  the  tumult;  trum- 

25  pet  and  echo  —  farewell  love,  and  farewell  anguish  —  rang 
through  the  dreadful  sanctus.     Oh,  darkness  of  the  grave! 
that  from  the  crimson  altar  and  from  the  fiery  font  wert 
visited  and  searched  by  the  effulgence  in  the  angel's  eye  — 
were  these  indeed  thy  children  ?     Pomps  of  life,  that,  from 

30  the  burials  of  centuries,  rose  again  to  the  voice  of  perfect 
joy,  did  ye  indeed  mingle  with  the  festivals  of  Death  ?    Lc  ! 


THE   ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


63 


as  I  looked  back  for  seventy  leagues  through  the  mighty 
cathedral,  I  saw  the  quick  and  the  dead  that  sang  together 
to  God,  together  that  sang  to  the  generations  of  man.  All 
the  hosts  of  jubilation,  like  armies  that  ride  in  pursuit, 
moved  with  one  step.  Us,  that,  with  laurelled  heads,  were  5 
passing  from  the  cathedral,  they  overtook,  and,  as  with  a 
garment,  they  wrapped  us  round  with  thunders  greater  than 
our  own.  As  brothers  we  moved  together ;  to  the  dawn 
that  advanced,  to  the  stars  that  fled  ;  rendering  thanks  to 
God  in  the  highest  —  that,  having  hid  His  face  through  10 
one  generation  behind  thick  clouds  of  War,  once  again 
was  ascending,  from  the  Campo  Santo  of  Waterloo  was 
ascending,  in  the  visions  of  Peace  ;  rendering  thanks  for 
thee,  young  girl !  whom  having  overshadowed  with  His 
ineffable  passion  of  death,  suddenly  did  God  relent,  suffered  15 
thy  angel  to  turn  aside  His  arm,  and  even  in  thee,  sister 
unknown  !  shown  to  me  for  a  moment  only  to  be  hidden 
for  ever,  found  an  occasion  to  glorify  His  goodness.  A 
thousand  times,  amongst  the  phantoms  of  sleep,  have  I 
seen  thee  entering  the  gates  of  the  golden  dawn,  with  the  20 
secret  word  riding  before  thee,  with  the  armies  of  the 
grave  behind  thee,  —  seen  thee  sinking,  rising,  raving, 
despairing ;  a  thousand  times  in  the  worlds  of  sleep  have  I 
seen  thee  followed  by  God's  angel  through  storms,  through 
desert  seas,  through  the  darkness  of  quicksands,  through  25 
dreams  and  the  dreadful  revelations  that  are  in  dreams  ; 
only  that  at  the  last,  with  one  sling  of  His  victorious  arm, 
He  might  snatch  thee  back  from  ruin,  and  might  emblazon 
in  thy  deliverance  the  endless  resurrections  of  His  love  ! 


JOAN    OF  ARC1 

What  is  to  be  thought  of  her?  What  is  to  be  thought  of 
the  poor  shepherd  girl  from  the  hills  and  forests  of  Lor- 
raine, that  —  like  the  Hebrew  shepherd  boy  from  the  hills 
and  forests  of  Judea  —  rose  suddenly  out  of  the  quiet,  out 
5  of  the  safety,  out  of  the  religious  inspiration,  rooted  in  deep 
pastoral  solitudes,  to  a  station  in  the  van  of  armies,  and  to 
the  more  perilous  station  at  the  right  hand  of  kings  ?  The 
Hebrew  boy  inaugurated  his  patriotic  mission  by  an  act,  by 
a  victorious  act,  such  as  no  man  could  deny.  But  so  did 
10  the  girl  of  Lorraine,  if  we  read  her  story  as  it  was  read  by 
those  who  saw  her  nearest.     Adverse  armies  bore  witness 

1  "  Are  " :  —  Modern  France,  that  should  know  a  great  deal  better 
than  myself,  insists  that  the  name  is  not  D'Arc  —  i.e.,  of  Arc  —  but 
Dare.  Now  it  happens  sometimes  that,  if  a  person  whose  position 
guarantees  his  access  to  the  best  information  will  content  himself  with 
gloomy  dogmatism,  striking  the  table  with  his  fist,  and  saying  in  a 
terrific  voice,  "  It  is  so,  and  there's  an  end  of  it,"  one  bows  defer- 
entially, and  submits.  But,  if,  unhappily  for  himself,  won  by  this 
docility,  he  relents  too  amiably  into  reasons  and  arguments,  probably 
one  raises  an  insurrection  against  him  that  may  never  be  crushed ;  for 
in  the  fields  of  logic  one  can  skirmish,  perhaps,  as  well  as  he.  Had  he 
confined  himself  to  dogmatism,  he  would  have  intrenched  his  position 
in  darkness,  and  have  hidden  his  own  vulnerable  points.  But  coming 
down  to  base  reasons  he  lets  in  light,  and  one  sees  where  to  plant  the 
blows.  Now,  the  worshipful  reason  of  modern  France  for  disturb- 
ing the  old  received  spelling  is  that  Jean  Ilordal,  a  descendant  of 
La  Pucelle's  brother,  spelled  the  name  Dare  in  1612.  But  what  of 
that  ?  It  is  notorious  that  what  small  matter  of  spelling  Providence 
had  thought  fit  to  disburse  amongst  man  in  the  seventeenth  century 
was  all  monopolised  by  printers  ;  now,  M.  Ilordal  was  not  a  printer. 

64 


JOAN  OF  ARC  65 

to  the  boy  as  no  pretender  ;  but  so  they  did  to  the  gentle 
girl.  Judged  by  the  voices  of  all  who  saw  them  from  a 
station  of  good  will,  both  were  found  true  and  loyal  to  any 
promises  involved  in  their  first  acts.  Enemies  it  was  that 
made  the  difference  between  their  subsequent  fortunes.  The  5 
boy  rose  to  a  splendour  and  a  noonday  prosperity,  both 
personal  and  public,  that  rang  through  the  records  of  his 
people,  and  became  a  byword  among  his  posterity  for  a 
thousand  years,  until  the  sceptre  was  departing  from  Judah. 
The  poor,  forsaken  girl,  on  the  contrary,  drank  not  herself  10 
from  that  cup  of  rest  which  she  had  secured  for  France.  She 
never  sang  together  with  the  songs  that  rose  in  her  native 
Domre'my  as  echoes  to  the  departing  steps  of  invaders. 
She  mingled  not  in  the  festal  dances  at  Vaucouleurs  which 
celebrated  in  rapture  the  redemption  of  France.  No!  for  15 
her  voice  was  then  silent ;  no !  for  her  feet  were  dust. 
Pure,  innocent,  noble-hearted  girl !  whom,  from  earliest 
youth,  ever  I  believed  in  as  full  of  truth  and  self-sacrifice, 
this  was  amongst  the  strongest  pledges  for  thy  truth,  that 
never  once  —  no,  not  for  a  moment  of  weakness  —  didst  20 
thou  revel  in  the  vision  of  coronets  and  honour  from  man. 
Coronets  for  thee  !  Oh,  no  !  Honours,  if  they  come  when 
all  is  over,  are  for  those  that  share  thy  blood.1  Daughter 
of  Domremy,  when  the  gratitude  of  thy  king  shall  awaken, 
thou  wilt  be  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  dead.  Call  her,  King  25 
of  France,  but  she  will  not  hear  thee.  Cite  her  by  the 
apparitors  to  come  and  receive  a  robe  of  honour,  but  she 
will  be  found  en  contumace.  When  the  thunders  of  uni- 
versal France,  as  even  yet  may  happen,  shall  proclaim  the 
grandeur  of  the  poor  shepherd  girl  that  gave  up  all  for  her  30 
country,  thy  ear,  young  shepherd  girl,  will  have  been  deaf 
for  five    centuries.      To   suffer   and   to   do,    that   was   thy 

lu  Those  that  share  thy  blood" :  —  A  collateral  relative  of  Joanna's 
was  subsequently  ennobled  by  the  title  of  Du  Lys. 


66  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

portion  in  this  life ;  that  was  thy  destiny ;  and  not  for  a 
moment  was  it  hidden  from  thyself.  Life,  thou  saidst,  is 
short ;  and  the  sleep  which  is  in  the  grave  is  long  ;  let  me 
use  that  life,  so  transitory,  for  the  glory  of  those  heavenly 
5  dreams  destined  to  comfort  the  sleep  which  is  so  long  ! 
This  pure  creature  —  pure  from  every  suspicion  of  even  a 
visionary  self-interest,  even  as  she  was  pure  in  senses  more 
obvious  —  never  once  did  this  holy  child,  as  regarded  her- 
self, relax  from  her  belief  in  the  darkness  that  was  travel- 

10  ling  to  meet  her.  She  might  not  prefigure  the  very  manner 
of  her  death  ;  she  saw  not  in  vision,  perhaps,  the  aerial 
altitude  of  the  fiery  scaffold,  the  spectators  without  end, 
on  every  road,  pouring  into  Rouen  as  to  a  coronation,  the 
surging  smoke,  the  volleying  flames,  the  hostile  faces  all 

15  around,  the  pitying  eye  that  lurked  but  here  and  there, 
until  nature  and  imperishable  truth  broke  loose  from  arti- 
ficial restraints  —  these  might  not  be  apparent  through  the 
mists  of  the  hurrying  future.  But  the  voice  that  called 
her  to  death,  that  she  heard  for  ever. 

20  Great  was  the  throne  of  France  even  in  those  days,  and 
great  was  He  that  sat  upon  it  ;  but  well  Joanna  knew  that 
not  the  throne,  nor  he  that  sat  upon  it,  was  for  her  ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  that  she  was  for  them;  not  she  by  them, 
but  they  by  her,  should  rise  from  the  dust.    Gorgeous  were 

25  the  lilies  of  France,  and  for  centuries  had  the  privilege  to 
spread  their  beauty  over  land  and  sea,  until,  in  another 
century,  the  wrath  of  God  and  man  combined  to  wither 
them  ;  but  well  Joanna  knew,  early  at  Domremy  she  had 
read    that   bitter    truth,    that    the   lilies    of    France   would 

30  decorate  no  garland  for  her.  Flower  nor  bud,  bell  nor 
blossom,  would  ever  bloom  for  her ! 

But  stay.     What  reason  is  there  for  taking  up  this  sub- 
ject of  Joanna  precisely  in  the  spring  of  1847  ?     Might  it 


JOAN  OF  ARC  67 

not  have  been  left  till  the  spring  of  1947,  or,  perhaps,  left 
till  called  for  ?  Yes,  but  it  is  called  for,  and  clamorously. 
You  are  aware,  reader,  that  amongst  the  many  original 
thinkers  whom  modern  France  has  produced,  one  of  the 
reputed  leaders  is  M.  Michelet.  All  these  writers  are  of  5 
a  revolutionary  cast ;  not  in  a  political  sense  merely,  but 
in  all  senses ;  mad,  oftentimes,  as  March  hares ;  crazy 
with  the  laughing  gas  of  recovered  liberty  ;  drunk  with  the 
wine  cup  of  their  mighty  Revolution,  snorting,  whinnying, 
throwing  up  their  heels,  like  wild  horses  in  the  boundless  10 
pampas,  and  running  races  of  defiance  with  snipes,  or  with 
the  winds,  or  with  their  own  shadows,  if  they  can  find  noth- 
ing else  to  challenge.  Some  time  or  other,  I,  that  have 
leisure  to  read,  may  introduce  you,  that  have  not,  to  two 
or  three  dozen  of  these  writers;  of  whom  I  can  assure  15 
you  beforehand  that  they  are  often  profound,  and  at  inter- 
vals are  even  as  impassioned  as  if  they  were  come  of  our 
best  English  blood.  But  now,  confining  our  attention  to 
M.  Michelet,  we  in  England  —  who  know  him  best  by  his 
worst  book,  the  book  against  priests,  etc.  —  know  him  dis-  20 
advantageously.  That  book  is  a  rhapsody  of  incoherence. 
But  his  "  History  of  France  "  is  quite  another  thing.  A 
man,  in  whatsoever  craft  he  sails,  cannot  stretch  away  out 
of  sight  when  he  is  linked  to  the  windings  of  the  shore  by 
towing-ropes  of  History.  Facts,  and  the  consequences  25 
of  facts,  draw  the  writer  back  to  the  falconer's  lure  from 
the  giddiest  heights  of  speculation.  Here,  therefore  —  in 
his  "  France  "  —  if  not  always  free  from  Mightiness,  if  now 
and  then  off  like  a  rocket  for  an  airy  wheel  in  the  clouds, 
M.  Michelet,  with  natural  politeness,  never  forgets  that  30 
he  has  left  a  large  audience  waiting  for  him  on  earth,  and 
gazing  upward  in  anxiety  for  his  return  ;  return,  therefore, 
he  does.  But  History,  though  clear  of  certain  temptations 
in  one  direction,  has  separate  dangers  of  its  own.      It  is 


68  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

impossible  so  to  write  a  history  of  France,  or  of  England 
—  works  becoming  every  hour  more  indispensable  to  the 
inevitably  political  man  of  this  day  —  without  perilous 
openings  for  error.  If  I,  for  instance,  on  the  part  of 
5  England,  should  happen  to  turn  my  labours  into  that 
channel,  and  (on  the  model  of  Lord  Percy  going  to 
Chevy  Chase) 

♦'A  vow  to  God  should  make 

My  pleasure  in  the   Michelet  woods 
10  Three  summer  days  to  take," 

probably,  from  simple  delirium,  I  might  hunt  M.  Michelet 
into  delirium  tremens.  Two  strong  angels  stand  by  the  side 
of  History,  whether  French  history  or  English,  as  heraldic 
supporters  :  the  angel  of  research  on  the  left  hand,  that 

15  must  read  millions  of  dusty  parchments,  and  of  pages 
blotted  with  lies ;  the  angel  of  meditation  on  the  right 
hand,  that  must  cleanse  these  lying  records  with  fire,  even 
as  of  old  the  draperies  of  asbestos  were  cleansed,  and  must 
quicken  them  into  regenerated  life.     Willingly  I  acknowl- 

20  edge  that  no  man  will  ever  avoid  innumerable  errors  of 
detail;  with  so  vast  a  compass  of  ground  to  traverse, 
this  is  impossible ;  but  such  errors  (though  I  have  a 
bushel  on  hand,  at  M.  Michelet's  service)  are  not  the 
game  I  chase  ;  it  is  the  bitter  and  unfair  spirit  in  which 

25  M.  Michelet  writes  against  England.  Even  that,  after  all, 
is  but  my  secondary  object;  the  real  one  is  Joanna,  the 
Pucelle  d'Orleans  herself. 

I  am  not  going  to  write  the  history  of  La  Pucelle :  to  do 
this,  or  even  circumstantially  to  report  the  history  of  her 

30  persecution  and  bitter  death,  of  her  struggle  with  false 
witnesses  and  with  ensnaring  judges,  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  have  before  us   all  the  documents,   and  therefore 


JOAN  OF  ARC  69 

the  collection  only  now  forthcoming  in  Paris.1  But  my 
purpose  is  narrower.  There  have  been  great  thinkers, 
disdaining  the  careless  judgments  of  contemporaries,  who 
have  thrown  themselves  boldly  on  the  judgment  of  a  far 
posterity,  that  should  have  had, time  to  review,  to  ponder,  5 
to  compare.  There  have  been  great  actors  on  the  stage 
of  tragic  humanity  that  might,  with  the  same  depth  of 
confidence,  have  appealed  from  the  levity  of  compatriot 
friends  —  too  heartless  for  the  sublime  interest  of  their 
story,  and  too  impatient  for  the  labour  of  sifting  its  per-  10' 
plexities  —  to  the  magnanimity  and  justice  of  enemies. 
To  this  class  belongs  the  Maid  of  Arc.  The  ancient 
Romans  were  too  faithful  to  the  ideal  of  grandeur  in 
themselves  not  to  relent,  after  a  generation  or  two,  before 
the  grandeur  of  Hannibal.  Mithridates,  a  more  doubtful  15 
person,  yet,  merely  for  the  magic  perseverance  of  his 
indomitable  malice,  won  from  the  same  Romans  the  only 
real  honour  that  ever  he  received  on  earth.  And  we  Eng- 
lish have  ever  shown  the  same  homage  to  stubborn 
enmity.  To  work  unflinchingly  for  the  ruin  of  England ;  20 
to  say  through  life,  by  word  and  by  deed,  Delenda  est 
Anglia  Victrix ! — that  one  purpose  of  malice,  faithfully 
pursued,  has  quartered  some  people  upon  our  national 
funds  of  homage  as  by  a  perpetual  annuity.  Better  than 
an  inheritance  of  service  rendered  to  England  herself  has  25 
sometimes  proved  the  most  insane  hatred  to  England. 
Hyder  AH,  even  his  son  Tippoo,  though  so  far  inferior, 
and  Napoleon,  have  all  benefited  by  this  disposition 
among  ourselves  to  exaggerate  the  merit  of  diabolic 
enmity.  Not  one  of  these  men  was  ever  capable,  in  a  30 
solitary  instance,  of  praising  an  enemy  (what  do  you  say 

1 "  0?ily  now  forthcoming" :  —  In  1847  began  the  publication  (from 
official  records)  of  Joanna's  trial.  It  was  interrupted,  I  fear,  by  the 
convulsions  of  1S48  ;  and  whether  even  yet  finished  I  do  not  know. 


70  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

to  that,  reader  ?)  ;  and  yet  in  their  behalf,  we  consent  to 
forget,  not  their  crimes  only,  but  (which  is  worse)  their 
hideous  bigotry  and  anti-magnanimous  egotism  —  for 
nationality  it  was  not.  Suffren,  and  some  half  dozen  of 
5  other  French  nautical  heroes,  because  rightly  they  did 
us  all  the  mischief  they  could  (which  was  really  great), 
are  names  justly  reverenced  in  England.  On  the  same 
principle,  La  Pucelle  d'Orle'ans,  the  victorious  enemy  of 
England,  has  been  destined   to  receive  her  deepest  com- 

•io  memoration  from  the  magnanimous  justice  of  Englishmen. 

Joanna,  as  we  in  England  should  call  her,  but  according 

to  her  own  statement,  Jeanne  (or,  as  M.  Michelet  asserts, 

Jean1)    D'Arc  was   born   at   Domremy,   a   village  on   the 

marches  of  Lorraine  and  Champagne,  and  dependent  upon 

15  the  town  of  Vaucouleurs.  I  have  called  her  a  Lorrainer, 
not  simply  because  the  word  is  prettier,  but  because 
Champagne  too  odiously  reminds  us  English  of  what  are 
for  us  imaginary  wines — which,  undoubtedly,  La  Pucelle 
tasted  as  rarely  as  we   English:  we  English,  because  the 

20  champagne  of  London  is  chiefly  grown  in  Devonshire;  La 
Pucelle,  because  the  champagne  of  Champagne  never,  by  any 

l"Jean": —  M.  Michelet  asserts  that  there  was  a  mystical  meaning 
at  that  era  in  calling  a  child  Jean  ;  it  implied  a  secret  commendation  of 
a  child,  if  not  a*  dedication,  to  St.  John  the  evangelist,  the  beloved 
disciple,  the  apostle  of  love  and  mysterious  visions.  But, .really,  as  the 
name  was  so  exceedingly  common,  few  people  will  detect  a  mystery  in 
calling  a  boy  by  the  name  of  Jack,  though  it  docs  seem  mysterious  to  call 
a  girl  Jack.  It  may  be  less  so  in  France,  where  a  beautiful  practice 
has  always  prevailed  of  giving  a  boy  his  mother's  name  —  preceded  and 
strengthened  by  a  male  name,  as  Charles  Anne,  Victor  Victoire.  In 
cases  where  a  mother's  memory  has  been  unusually  dear  to  a  son,  this 
vocal  memento  of  her,  locked  into  the  circle  of  his  own  name,  gives  to 
it  the  tenderness  of  a  testamentary  relic,  or  a  funeral  ring.  I  presume, 
therefore,  that  La  Pucelle  must  have  borne  the  baptismal  name  of 
Jeanne  Jean  ;  the  latter  with  no  reference,  perhaps,  to  so  sublime  a 
person  as  St.  John,  but  simply  to  some  relative. 


JOAN  OF  ARC  71 

chance,  flowed  into  the  fountain  of  Domre'my,  from  which 
only  she  drank.  M.  Michelet  will  have  her  to  be  a  Cham- 
penoise,  and  for  no  better  reason  than  that  she  "  took  after 
her  father,"  who  happened  to  be  a  Champenois. 

These  disputes,  however,  tur,n  on  refinements  too  nice.    5 
Domrt'my  stood  upon  the  frontiers,  and,  like  other  fron- 
tiers, produced  a  mixed  race,  representing  the  cis  and  the 
trans.     A  river   (it  is  true)  formed  the  boundary  line  at 
this  point  —  the  river  Meuse  ;  and  that,  in  old  days,  might 
have   divided   the  populations  ;    but  in  these  days  it  did  10 
not ;  there  were  bridges,  there  were  ferries,  and  weddings 
crossed  from  the  right  bank  to  the  left.     Here  lay  two 
great  roads,  not  so  much  for  travellers  that  were  few,  as 
for  armies  that  were  too  many  by  half.     These  two  roads, 
one  of  which  was  the  great  highroad  between  France  and  15 
Germany,  decussated  at  this  very  point ;  which  is  a  learned 
way  of  saying  that  they  formed  a  St.  Andrew's  Cross,  or 
letter  X.      I  hope  the  compositor  will  choose  a  good  large 
X;  in  which   case  the  point   of  intersection,   the  locus  of 
conflux   and   intersection   for  these   four   diverging  arms,  20 
will  finish  the  reader's  geographical  education,  by  showing 
him  to  a  hair's-breadth  where  it  was  that  Domre'my  stood. 
These  roads,  so  grandly  situated,  as  great  trunk  arteries 
between  two  mighty  realms,1  and  haunted  for  ever  by  wars 
or  rumours  of  wars,  decussated  (for  anything  I  know  to  25 
the  contrary)  absolutely  under  Joanna's  bedroom  window  ; 
one  rolling  away  to  the  right,  past  M.  D 'Arc's  old  barn, 
and   the   other  unaccountably  preferring   to   sweep  round 
that  odious  man's  pig-sty  to  the  left. 

On  whichever  side  of  the   border   chance   had   thrown  30 
Joanna,  the  same  love  to  France  would  have  been  nurtured. 

1  And  reminding  one  of  that  inscription,  so  justly  admired  by  Paul 
Richter,  which  a  Russian  Czarina  placed  on  a  guide-post  near  Moscow  : 
litis  is  the  road  that  leads  to  Constantinople. 


72  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

For  it  is  a  strange  fact,  noticed  by  M.  Michelet  and 
others,  that  the  Dukes  of  Bar  and  Lorraine  had  for 
generations  pursued  the  policy  of  eternal  warfare  with 
France  on  their  own  account,  yet  also  of  eternal  amity 
5  and  league  with  France  in  case  anybody  else  presumed 
to  attack  her.  Let  peace  settle  upon  France,  and  before 
long  you  might  rely  upon  seeing  the  little  vixen  Lorraine 
flying  at  the  throat  of  France.  Let  France  be  assailed 
by  a  formidable  enemy,  and  instantly  you  saw  a  Duke  of 

10  Lorraine  insisting  on  having  his  own  throat  cut  in  sup- 
port of  France  ;  which  favour  accordingly  was  cheerfully 
granted  to  him  in  three  great  successive  battles:  twice 
by  the  English,  viz.,  at  Crccy  and  Agincourt,  once  by 
the  Sultan  at  Nicopolis. 

15  This  sympathy  with  France  during  great  eclipses,  in 
those  that  during  ordinary  seasons  were  always  teasing 
her  with  brawls  and  guerilla  inroads,  strengthened  the 
natural  piety  to  France  of  those  that  were  confessedly 
the  children  of  her  own  house.     The  outposts  of  France, 

20  as  one  may  call  the  great  frontier  provinces,  were  of  all 
localities  the  most  devoted  to  the  Fleurs  de  Lys.  To  wit- 
ness, at  any  great  crisis,  the  generous  devotion  to  these 
lilies  of  the  little  fiery  cousin  that  in  gentler  weather  was 
for  ever  tilting  at  the  breast  of  France,  could  not  but  fan 

25  the  zeal  of  France's  legitimate  daughters  ;  while  to  occupy 
a  post  of  honour  on  the  frontiers  against  an  old  hereditary 
enemy  of  France  would  naturally  stimulate  this  zeal  by  a 
sentiment  of  martial  pride,  by  a  sense  of  danger  always 
threatening,  and  of  hatred  always  smouldering.      That  great 

30  four-headed  road  was  a  perpetual  memento  to  patriotic 
ardour.  To  say  "This  way  lies  the  road  to  Paris,  and  that 
other  way  to  Aix-la-Chapelle ;  this  to  Prague,  that  to 
Vienna,"  nourished  the  warfare  of  the  heart  by  daily  min- 
istrations of  sense.      The  eye  that  watched  for  the  gleams 


JOAN  OF  ARC  73 

of  lance  or  helmet  from  the  hostile  frontier,  the  ear  that 
listened  for  the  groaning  of  wheels,  made  the  highroad 
itself,  with  its  relations  to  centres  so  remote,  into  a 
manual  of  patriotic  duty. 

The  situation,  therefore,  locally,  of   Joanna  was  full  of    5 
profound    suggestions    to    a    heart   that    listened   for    the 
stealthy  steps   of   change   and  fear   that   too   surely  were 
in   motion.     But,   if  the  place  were  grand,  the  time,  the 
burden  of  the  time,  was  far  more  so.     The  air  overhead 
in  its  upper  chambers  was  hurtlingwith  the  obscure  sound;  10 
was  dark  with  sullen  fermenting  of  storms  that  had  been 
gathering  for  a  hundred  and  thirty  years.     The  battle  of 
Agincourt  in  Joanna's  childhood  had  reopened  the  wounds 
of    France.     Cre'cy   and    Poictiers,   those   withering   over- 
throws for  the  chivalry  of  France,  had,  before  Agincourt  15 
occurred,  been  tranquilised  by  more  than  half  a  century ; 
but  this  resurrection  of  their  trumpet  wails  made  the  whole 
series  of  battles  and  endless  skirmishes  take  their  stations 
as  parts  in  one  drama.     The  graves  that  had  closed  sixty 
years  ago  seemed  to  fly  open  in  sympathy  with  a  sorrow  20 
that  echoed  their  own.     The  monarchy  of  France  laboured 
in  extremity,  rocked  and  reeled  like  a  ship  fighting  with 
the  darkness  of  monsoons.     The  madness  of  the  poor  king 
(Charles  VI),  falling  in  at  such  a  crisis,  like  the  case  of 
women  labouring  in  child-birth  during  the  storming  of  a  25 
city,  trebled  the  awfulness  of  the  time.     Even  the  wild 
story  of  the  incident  which  had  immediately  occasioned 
the  explosion   of    this  madness  —  the  case  of  a   man  un- 
known, gloomy,  and  perhaps  maniacal  himself,  coming  out 
of  a  forest  at  noonday,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  bridle  of  3° 
the  king's  horse,  checking  him  for  a  moment  to  say,  "Oh, 
king,  thou  art  betrayed,"  and  then  vanishing,  no  man  knew 
whither,  as  he  had  appeared  for  no  man  knew  what — -fell 
in  with  the  universal  prostration  of  mind  that  laid  France 


74  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

on  her  knees,  as  before  the  slow  unweaving  of  some  ancient 
prophetic  doom.  The  famines,  the  extraordinary  diseases, 
the  insurrections  of  the  peasantry  up  and  down  Europe  — 
these  were  chords  struck  from  the  same  mysterious  harp ; 
5  but  these  were  transitory  chords.  There  had  been  others 
of  deeper  and  more  ominous  sound.  The  termination  of 
the  Crusades,  the  destruction  of  the  Templars,  the  Papal 
interdicts,  the  tragedies  caused  or  suffered  by  the  house  of 
Anjou,  and  by  the  Emperor  — -  these  were  full  of  a  more 

10  permanent  significance.  But,  since  then,  the  colossal  fig- 
ure of  feudalism  was  seen  standing,  as  it  were  on  tiptoe,  at 
Cre'cy,  for  flight  from  earth  :  that  was  a  revolution  unparal- 
leled ;  yet  that  was  a  trifle  by  comparison  with  the  more 
fearful  revolutions  that  were  mining  below  the  Church.    By 

15  her  own  internal  schisms,  by  the  abominable  spectacle  of 
a  double  Pope — so  that  no  man,  except  through  political 
bias,  could  even  guess  which  was  Heaven's  vicegerent,  and 
which  the  creature  of  Hell  —  the  Church  was  rehearsing, 
as  in  still  earlier  forms  she  had  already  rehearsed,  those 

20  vast  rents  in  her  foundations  which  no  man  should  ever 
heal. 

These  were  the  loftiest  peaks  of  the  cloudland  in  the 
skies  that  to  the  scientific  gazer  first  caught  the  colors  of 
the  new  morning  in  advance.     But  the  whole  vast  range 

25  alike  of  sweeping  glooms  overhead  dwelt  upon  all  medi- 
tative minds,  even  upon  those  that  could  not  distinguish 
the  tendencies  nor  decipher  the  forms.  It  was,  therefore,  not 
her  own  age  alone,  as  affected  by  its  immediate  calamities, 
that  lay  with  such  weight  upon  Joanna's  mind,  but  her  own 

30  age  as  one  section  in  a  vast  mysterious  drama,  unweaving 
through  a  century  back,  and  drawing  nearer  continually  to 
some  dreadful  crisis.  Cataracts  and  rapids  were  heard 
roaring  ahead  ;  and  signs  were  seen  far  back,  by  help  of 
old  men's  memories,  which  answered  secretly  to  signs  now 


JOAN   OF  ARC  75 

coming  forward  on  the  eye,  even  as  locks  answer  to  keys. 
It  was  not  wonderful  that  in  such  a  haunted  solitude,  with 
such  a  haunted  heart,  Joanna  should  see  angelic  visions, 
and  hear  angelic  voices.  These  voices  whispered  to  her 
for  ever  the  duty,  self-imposed,  of  delivering  France.  Five  5 
years  she  listened  to  these  monitory  voices  with  internal 
struggles.  At  length  she  could  resist  no  longer.  Doubt 
gave  way ;  and  she  left  her  home  for  ever  in  order  to 
present  herself  at  the  dauphin's  court. 

The  education  of  this  poor  girl  was  mean  according  to  10 
the  present  standard  :  was  ineffably  grand,  according  to  a 
purer    philosophic    standard  :  and  only  not  good  for  our 
age  because  for  us  it  would  be  unattainable.     She  read  noth- 
ing, for  she  could  not  read  ;  but  she  had  heard  others  read 
parts  of  the  Roman  martyrology.     She  wept  in  sympathy  15 
with  the  sad  "  Misereres  "  of  the  Romish  Church  ;  she  rose 
to    heaven    with    the   glad    triumphant    "  Te    Deums "    of 
Rome ;  she  drew  her  comfort  and  her  vital  strength  from 
the  rites  of  the  same  Church.     But,  next  after  these  spirit- 
ual advantages,  she  owed  most  to  the  advantages  of  her  20 
situation.     The  fountain  of  Domre'my  was  on  the  brink  of 
a  boundless  forest ;  and  it  was  haunted  to  that  degree  by 
fairies  that    the   parish   priest   (cure)  was  obliged  to  read 
mass    there  once  a  year,  in  order  to    keep  them    in    any 
decent  bounds.     Fairies  are  important,  even  in  a  statistical  25 
view :  certain  weeds  mark  poverty  in  the  soil  ;  fairies  mark 
its  solitude.     As  surely   as    the  wolf  retires  before   cities 
does  the  fairy  sequester  herself   from    the    haunts  of  the 
licensed  victualer.      A  village  is  too  much  for  her  nervous 
delicacy ;    at  most,  she   can    tolerate  a  distant  view  of  a  30 
hamlet.     We  may  judge,  therefore,  by  the  uneasiness  and 
extra    trouble   which    they  gave    to    the    parson,  in    what 
strength  the  fairies  mustered  at  Domre'my,  and,  by  a  satis- 
factory consequence,  how  thinly  sown  with  men  and  women 


76  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

must  have  been  that  region  even  in  its  inhabited  spots. 
But  the  forests  of  Domre'my  —  those  were  the  glories  of 
the  land  :  for  in  them  abode  mysterious  powers  and  ancient 
secrets  that  towered  into  tragic  strength.  "  Abbeys  there 
5  were,  and  abbey  windows  "  —  "  like  Moorish  temples  of 
the  Hindoos  "  — that  exercised  even  princely  power  both  in 
Lorraine  and  in  the  German  Diets.  These  had  their  sweet 
bells  that  pierced  the  forests  for  many  a  league  at  matins 
or  vespers,  and  each  its  own  dreamy  legend.     Few  enough, 

10  and  scattered  enough,  were  these  abbeys,  so  as  in  no 
degree  to  disturb  the  deep  solitude  of  the  region  ;  yet 
many  enough  to  spread  a  network  or  awning  of  Christian 
sanctity  over  what  else  might  have  seemed  a  heathen  wil- 
derness.    This  sort  of  religious  talisman  being  secured,  a 

15  man  the  most  afraid  of  ghosts  (like  myself,  suppose,  or  the 
reader)  becomes  armed  into  courage  to  wander  for  days  in 
their  sylvan  recesses.  The  mountains  of  the  Vosges,  on 
the  eastern  frontier  of  France,  have  never  attracted  much 
notice    from    Europe,  except    in    18 13-14   for  a  few  brief 

20  months,  when  they  fell  within  Napoleon's  line  of  defence 
against  the  Allies.  But  they  are  interesting  for  this  among 
other  features,  that  they  do  not,  like  some  loftier  ranges, 
repel  woods ;  the  forests  and  the  hills  are  on  sociable 
terms.     "  Live  and   let    live  "    is    their    motto.      For    this 

25  reason,  in  part,  these  tracts  in  Lorraine  were  a  favourite 
hunting-ground  with  the  Carlovingian  princes.  About  six 
hundred  years  before  Joanna's  childhood,  Charlemagne 
was  known  to  have  hunted  there.  That,  of  itself,  was  a 
grand   incident    in   the   traditions  of  a   forest   or   a   chase. 

,30  In  these  vast  forests,  also,  were  to  be  found  (if  anywhere 
to  be  found)  those  mysterious  fawns  that  tempted  solitary 
hunters  into  visionary  and  perilous  pursuits.  Here  was 
seen  (if  anywhere  seen)  that  ancient  stag  who  was  already 
nine  hundred  years  old,  but  possibly  a  hundred  or  two  more, 


JOAN  OF  ARC  77 

when  met  by  Charlemagne  ;  and  the  thing  was  put  beyond 
doubt  by  the  inscription  upon  his  golden  collar.  I  believe 
Charlemagne  knighted  the  stag  ;  and,  if  ever  he  is  met  again 
by  a  king,  he  ought  to  be  made  an  earl,  or,  being  upon  the 
marches  of  France,  a  marquis.  Observe,  I  don't  absolutely  5 
vouch  for  all  these  things  :  my  own  opinion  varies.  On  a 
fine  breezy  forenoon  I  am  audaciously  sceptical ;  but  as 
twilight  sets  in  my  credulity  grows  steadily,  till  it  becomes 
equal  to  anything  that  could  be  desired.  And  I  have  heard 
candid  sportsmen  declare  that,  outside  of  these  very  forests,  10 
they  laughed  loudly  at  all  the  dim  tales  connected  with 
their  haunted  solitudes,  but,  on  reaching  a  spot  notoriously 
eighteen  miles  deep  within  them,  they  agreed  with  Sir 
Roger  de  Coverley  that  a  good  deal  might  be  said  on  both 
sides.  15 

Such  traditions,  or  any  others  that  (like  the  stag)  con- 
nect distant  generations  with  each  other,  are,  for  that 
cause,  sublime  ;  and  the  sense  of  the  shadowy,  connected 
with  such  appearances  that  reveal  themselves  or  not  accord- 
ing to  circumstances,  leaves  a  colouring  of  sanctity  over  20 
ancient  forests,  even  in  those  minds  that  utterly  reject  the 
legend  as  a  fact. 

But,  apart  from  all  distinct  stories  of  that  order,  in  any 
solitary  frontier  between  two  great  empires  —  as  here,  for 
instance,  or  in  the  desert  between  Syria  and  the  Euphrates  25 
—  there  is  an  inevitable  tendency,  in  minds  of  any  deep 
sensibility,  to  people  the  solitudes  with  phantom  images  of 
powers  that  were  of  old  so  vast.  Joanna,  therefore,  in  her 
quiet  occupation  of  a  shepherdess,  would  be  led  continually 
to  brood  over  the  political  condition  of  her  country  by  the  30 
traditions  of  the  past  no  less  than  by  the  mementoes  of  the 
local  present. 

M.   Michelet,  indeed,    says   that    La   Pucelle   was  not  a 
shepherdess.      I  beg  his  pardon  ;  she  was.     What  he  rests 


78  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE  Y 

upon  I  guess  pretty  well :  it  is  the  evidence  of  a  woman 
called  Haumette,  the  most  confidential  friend  of  Joanna. 
Now,  she  is  a  good  witness,  and  a  good  girl,  and  I  like 
her  ;  for  she  makes  a  natural  and  affectionate  report  of 
5  Joanna's  ordinary  life.  But  still,  however  good  she  may 
be  as  a  witness,  Joanna  is  better ;  and  she,  when  speaking 
to  the  dauphin,  calls  herself  in  the  Latin  report  Bcrgereta. 
Even  Haumette  confesses  that  Joanna  tended  sheep  in  her 
girlhood.      And  I  believe  that,  if  Miss  Haumette  were  tak- 

10  ing  coffee  along  with  me  this  very  evening  (February  12, 
1847)  —  in  which  there  would  be  no  subject  for  scandal  or 
for  maiden  blushes,  because  I  am  an  intense  philosopher, 
and  Miss  H.  would  be  hard  upon  450  years  old  —  she 
would   admit    the  following    comment   upon  her  evidence 

15  to  be  right.  A  Frenchman,  about  forty  years  ago  —  M. 
Simond,  in  his  "Travels  "  —  mentions  accidentally  the  fol- 
lowing hideous  scene  as  one  steadily  observed  and  watched 
by  himself  in  chivalrous  France  not  very  long  before  the 
French  Revolution  :  A  peasant  was  plowing ;  and  the  team 

20  that  drew  his  plow  was  a  donkey  and  a  woman.  Both  were 
regularly  harnessed  ;  both  pulled  alike.  This  is  bad  enough  ; 
but  the  Frenchman  adds  that,  in  distributing  his  lashes, 
the  peasant  was  obviously  desirous  of  being  impartial  ;  or, 
if  either  of  the  yokefellows  had  a  right  to  complain,  cer- 

25  tainly  it  was  not  the  donkey.  Now,  in  any  country  where 
such  degradation  of  females  could  be  tolerated  by  the 
state  of  manners,  a  woman  of  delicacy  would  shrink  from 
acknowledging,  either  for  herself  or  her  friend,  that  she 
had  ever  been  addicted  to  any  mode  of  labour  not  strictly 

30  domestic  ;  because,  if  once  owning  herself  a  prandial  ser- 
vant, she  would  be  sensible  that  this  confession  extended 
by  probability  in  the  hearer's  thoughts  to  the  having  in- 
curred indignities  of  this  horrible  kind.  Haumette  clearly 
thinks  it  more  dignified  for  Joanna  to  have  been  darning 


JOAN  OF  ARC  79 

the  stockings  of  her  horny-hoofed  father,  M.  D'Arc,  than 
keeping  sheep,  lest  she  might  then  be  suspected  of  having 
ever  done  something  worse.  But,  luckily,  there  was  no  dan- 
ger of  that :  Joanna  never  was  in  service;  and  my  opinion 
is  that  her  father  should  have  mended  his  own  stockings,  5 
since  probably  he  was  the  party  to  make  the  holes  in  them, 
as  many  a  better  man  than  D'Arc  does  —  meaning  by  that 
not  myself,  because,  though  probably  a  better  man  than 
D'Arc,  I  protest  against  doing  anything  of  the  kind.  If  I 
lived  even  with  Friday  in  Juan  Fernandez,  either  Friday  10 
must  do  all  the  darning,  or  else  it  must  go  undone.  The 
better  men  that  I  meant  were  the  sailors  in  the  British  navy, 
every  man  of  whom  mends  his  own  stockings.  Who  else  is 
to  do  it  ?  Do  you  suppose,  reader,  that  the  junior  lords  of 
the  admiralty  are  under  articles  to  darn  for  the  navy  ?  15 

The  reason,  meantime,  for  my  systematic  hatred  of  D'Arc 
is  this :  There  was  a  story  current  in  France  before  the 
Revolution,  framed  to  ridicule  the  pauper  aristocracy,  who 
happened  to  have  long  pedigrees  and  short  rent  rolls  :  viz., 
that  a  head  of  such  a  house,  dating  from  the  Crusades,  was  20 
overheard  saying  to  his  son,  a  Chevalier  of  St.  Louis, 
"  Chevalier,  as-tu  dowie  au  cochon  a  manger  ?  "  Now,  it  is 
clearly  made  out  by  the  surviving  evidence  that  D'Arc 
would  much  have  preferred  continuing  to  say,  "  Ma  Jille, 
as-tu  donne  au  cochon  a  manger  ?"  to  saying,  "  Pucelle  25 
d' Orleans,  as-tu  saure  ks  Jleurs-dc-lys  ?  "  There  is  an  old 
English  copy  of  verses  which  argues  thus : 

"If  the  man  that  turnips  cries 
Cry  not  when  his  father  dies, 

Then  'tis  plain  the  man  had  rather  30 

Have  a  turnip  than  his  father." 

I  cannot  say  that  the  logic  of  these  verses  was  ever  entirely 
to  my  satisfaction.      I   do  not  see  my  way  through  it  as 


80  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE  Y 

clearly  as  could  be  wished.  But  I  see  my  way  most  clearly 
through  D'Arc ;  and  the  result  is  —  that  he  would  greatly 
have  preferred  not  merely  a  turnip  to  his  father,  but  the 
saving  a  pound  or  so  of  bacon  to  saving  the  Oriflamme  of 
S  France. 

It  is  probable  (as  M.  Michelet  suggests)  that  the  title  of 
Virgin  or  Pucelle  had  in  itself,  and  apart  from  the  miracu- 
lous stories  about  her,  a  secret  power  over  the  rude  soldiery 
and  partisan  chiefs  of  that  period  ;  for  in  such  a  person 

10  they  saw  a  representative  manifestation  of  the  Virgin  Mary, 
who,  in  a  course  of  centuries,  had  grown  steadily  upon  the 
popular  heart. 

As  to  Joanna's  supernatural  detection  of  the  dauphin 
(Charles  VII)  among  three  hundred  lords  and  knights,  I 

15  am  surprised  at  the  credulity  which  could  ever  lend  itself 
to  that  theatrical  juggle.  Who  admires  more  than  myself 
the  sublime  enthusiasm,  the  rapturous  faith  in  herself,  of 
this  pure  creature  ?  But  I  am  far  from  admiring  stage 
artifices  which  not  La  Pucelle,  but  the  court,  must  have 

20  arranged;  nor  can  surrender  myself  to  the  conjurer's  leger- 
demain, such  as  may  be  seen  every  day  for  a  shilling. 
Southey's  "Joan  of  Arc"  was  published  in  1796.  Twenty 
years  after,  talking  with  Southey,  I  was  surprised  to  find 
him  still  owning  a  secret  bias  in  favor  of  Joan,  founded  on 

25  her  detection  of  the  dauphin.  The  story,  for  the  benefit 
of  the  reader  new  to  the  case,  was  this  :  La  Pucelle  was 
first  made  known  to  the  dauphin,  and  presented  to  his 
court,  at  Chinon  ;  and  here  came  her  first  trial.  By  way 
of  testing  her  supernatural  pretensions,  she  was  to  find  out 

30  the  royal  personage  amongst  the  whole  ark  of  clean  and 
unclean  creatures.  Failing  in  this  coup  d'essai,  she  would 
not  simply  disappoint  many  a  beating  heart  in  the  glitter- 
ing crowd  that  on  different  motives  yearned  for  her  success, 
but  she  would  ruin  herself,  and,  as  the  oracle  within  had 


JOAN  OF  ARC  gx 

told  her,  would,  by  ruining  herself,  ruin  France.  Our  own 
Sovereign  Lady  Victoria  rehearses  annually  a  trial  not  so 
severe  in  degree,  but  the  same  in  kind.  She  "  pricks  "  for 
sheriffs.  Joanna  pricked  for  a  king.  But  observe  the  dif- 
ference :  our  own  Lady  pricks  for  two  men  out  of  three ;  5 
Joanna  for  one  man  out  of  three  hundred.  Happy  Lady 
of  the  Islands  and  the  Orient! — she  can  go  astray  in  her 
choice  only  by  one-half :  to  the  extent  of  one-half  she  must 
have  the  satisfaction  of  being  right.  And  yet,  even  with 
these  tight  limits  to  the  misery  of  a  boundless  discretion,  10 
permit  me,  Liege  Lady,  with  all  loyalty,  to  submit  that 
now  and  then  you  prick  with  your  pin  the  wrong  man. 
But  the  poor  child  from  Domremy,  shrinking  under  the 
gaze  of  a  dazzling  court  —  not  because  dazzling  (for  in  vis- 
ions she  had  seen  those  that  were  more  so),  but  because  15 
some  of  them  wore  a  scoffing  smile  on  their  features  — 
how  should  she  throw  her  line  into  so  deep  a  river  to  angle 
for  a  king,  where  many  a  gay  creature  was  sporting  that 
masqueraded  as  kings  in  dress  !  Nay,  even  more  than  any 
true  king  would  have  done :  for,  in  Southey's  version  of  20 
the  story,  the  dauphin  says,  by  way  of  trying  the  virgin's 
magnetic  sympathy  with  royalty, 

"  On  the  throne, 
I  the  while  mingling  with  the  menial  throng, 
Some  courtier  shall  be  seated."  25 

This  usurper  is  even  crowned  :  "  the  jeweled  crown  shines 
on  a  menial's  head."  But,  really,  that  is  " tin  peu  fort" ; 
and  the  mob  of  spectators  might  raise  a  scruple  whether 
our  friend  the  jackdaw  upon  the  throne,  and  the  dauphin 
himself,  were  not  grazing  the  shins  of  treason.  For  the  dau-  30 
phin  could  not  lend  more  than  belonged  to  him.  Accord- 
ing to  the  popular  notion,  he  had  no  crown  for  himself; 
consequently  none  to  lend,  on  any  pretence  whatever,  until 


82  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

the  consecrated  Maid  should  take  him  to  Rheims.  This 
was  the  popular  notion  in  France.  But  certainly  it  was 
the  dauphin's  interest  to  support  the  popular  notion,  as  he 
meant  to  use  the  services  of  Joanna.  For  if  he  were  king 
5  already,  what  was  it  that  she  could  do  for  him  beyond 
Orle'ans  ?  That  is  to  say,  what  more  than  a  merely  military 
service  could  she  render  him  ?  And,  above  all,  if  he  were 
king  without  a  coronation,  and  without  the  oil  from  the 
sacred  ampulla,  what  advantage  was  yet  open  to  him  by 

10  celerity  above  his  competitor,  the  English  boy  ?  Now  was 
to  be  a  race  for  a  coronation :  he  that  should  win  that 
race  carried  the  superstition  of  France  along  with  him  :  he 
that  should  first  be  drawn  from  the  ovens  of  Rheims  was 
under  that  superstition  baked  into  a  king. 

15  La  Pucelle,  before  she  could  be  allowed  to  practise  as  a 
warrior,  was  put  through  her  manual  and  platoon  exercise, 
as  a  pupil  in  divinity,  at  the  bar  of  six  eminent  men  in 
wigs.  According  to  Southey  (v.  393,  bk.  iii.,  in  the  original 
edition  of  his  "Joan  of  Arc,")  she  "appalled  the  doctors." 

20  It's  not  easy  to  do  that:  but  they  had  some  reason  to  feel 
bothered,  as  that  surgeon  would  assuredly  feel  bothered 
who,  upon  proceeding  to  dissect  a  subject,  should  find  the 
subject  retaliating  as  a  dissector  upon  himself,  especially 
if  Joanna  ever  made  the  speech  to  them  which  occupies 

25  v.  354-391,  bk.  iii.  It  is  a  double  impossibility:  1st, 
because  a  piracy  from  Tindal's  "Christianity  as  old  as  the 
Creation  "  —  a  piracy  a  parte  ante,  and  by  three  centuries  ; 
2d,  it  is  quite  contrary  to  the  evidence  on  Joanna's  trial. 
Southey's  "Joan"  of  a.d.   1796  (Cottle,  Bristol)  tells  the 

30  doctors,  among  other  secrets,  that  she  never  in  her  life 
attended  —  1st,  Mass;  nor  2d,  the  Sacramental  Table;  nor 
3d,  Confession.  In  the  meantime,  all  this  deistical  con- 
fession of  Joanna's,  besides  being  suicidal  for  the  interest 
of  her  cause,  is  opposed  to  the  depositions  upon  both  trials. 


JOAN  OF  ARC  83 

The  very  best  witness  called  from  first  to  last  deposes  that 
Joanna  attended  these  rites  of  her  Church  even  too  often  ; 
was  taxed  with  doing  so ;  and,  by  blushing,  owned  the 
charge  as  a  fact,  though  certainly  not  as  a  fault.  Joanna 
was  a  girl  of  natural  piety,  that  saw  God  in  forests  and  hills  5 
and  fountains,  but  did  not  the  less  seek  him  in  chapels  and 
consecrated  oratories. 

This  peasant  girl  was  self-educated  through  her  own 
natural  meditativeness.  If  the  reader  turns  to  that  divine 
passage  in  "  Paradise  Regained  "  which  Milton  has  put  10 
into  the  mouth  of  our  Saviour  when  first  entering  the 
wilderness,  and  musing  upon  the  tendency  of  those  great 
impulses  growing  within  himself 

"  Oh,  what  a  multitude  of  thoughts  at  once 
Awakened  in  me  swarm,  while  I  consider  15 

What  from  within  I  feel  myself,  and  hear 
What  from  without  comes  often  to  my  ears, 
111  sorting  with  my  present  state  compared  ! 
When  I  was  yet  a  child,  no  childish  play 
To  me  was  pleasing  ;  all  my  mind  was  set  20 

Serious  to  learn  and  know,  and  thence  to  do, 
What  might  be  public  good  ;  myself  I  thought 
Born  to  that  end  — —  " 

he  will  have  some  notion  of  the  vast  reveries  wrhich  brooded 
over  the  heart  of  Joanna  in  early  girlhood,  when  the  wings  25 
were  budding  that  should  carry  her  from  Orleans  to  Rheims  ; 
when  the  golden  chariot  was  dimly  revealing  itself  that 
should  carry  her  from  the  kingdom  of  France  Delivered  to 
the  Eternal  Kingdom. 

It  is  not  requisite  for  the  honour  of  Joanna,  nor  is  there  30 
in    this  place  room,   to  pursue  her  brief   career   of   action. 
That,    though   wonderful,    forms   the   earthly    part    of    her 
story ;    the    spiritual    part   is    the    saintly   passion    of   her 


84  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCEY 

imprisonment,  trial,  and  execution.  It  is  unfortunate,  there- 
fore, for  Southey's  "  Joan  of  Arc  "  (which,  however,  should 
always  be  regarded  as  a  juvenile  effort),  that  precisely  when 
her  real  glory  begins  the  poem  ends.  But  this  limitation 
5  of  the  interest  grew,  no  doubt,  from  the  constraint  insep- 
arably attached  to  the  law  of  epic  unity.  Joanna's  history 
bisects  into  two  opposite  hemispheres,  and  both  could  not 
have  been  presented  to  the  eye  in  one  poem,  unless  by  sac- 
rificing all  unity  of  theme,  or  else  by  involving  the  earlier 

10  half,  as  a  narrative  episode,  in  the  latter ;  which,  however, 
might  have  been  done,  for  it  might  have  been  communi- 
cated to  a  fellow-prisoner,  or  a  confessor,  by  Joanna  herself. 
It  is  sufficient,  as  concerns  this  section  of  Joanna's  life,  to 
say  that  she  fulfilled,  to  the  height  of  her  promises,  the 

15  restoration  of  the  prostrate  throne.  France  had  become 
a  province  of  England,  and  for  the  ruin  of  both,  if  such  a 
yoke  could  be  maintained.  Dreadful  pecuniary  exhaustion 
caused  the  English  energy  to  droop ;  and  that  critical 
opening  La  Pucelle  used  with  a  corresponding  felicity  of 

20  audacity  and  suddenness  (that  were  in  themselves  porten- 
tous) for  introducing  the  wedge  of  French  native  resources, 
for  rekindling  the  national  pride,  and  for  planting  the  dau- 
phin once  more  upon  his  feet.  When  Joanna  appeared,  he 
had  been  on  the  point  of  giving  up  the  struggle  with  the 

25  English,  distressed  as  they  were,  and  of  flying  to  the 
south  of  France.  She  taught  him  to  blush  for  such  abject 
counsels.  She  liberated  Orleans,  that  great  city,  so  deci- 
sive by  its  fate  for  the  issue  of  the  war,  and  then  beleaguered 
by  the  English  with  an  elaborate  application  of  engineer- 

30  ing  skill  unprecedented  in  Europe.  Entering  the  city  after 
sunset  on  the  29th  of  April,  she  sang  mass  on  Sunday,  May 
8th,  for  the  entire  disappearance  of  the  besieging  force. 
On  the  29th  of  June  she  fought  and  gained  over  the  English 
the  decisive  battle  of  Patay ;  on  the  9th  of  July  she  took 


JOAN  OF  ARC  85 

Troyes  by  a  coup-de-main  from  a  mixed  garrison  of  English 
and  Burgundians  ;  on  the  15th  of  that  month  she  carried 
the  dauphin  into  Rheims  ;  on  Sunday  the  17th  she  crowned 
him ;  and  there  she  rested  from  her  labour  of  triumph. 
All  that  was  to  be  done  she  had  now  accomplished ;  what  5 
remained  was  —  to  suffer. 

All  this  forward  movement  was  her  own  ;  excepting  one 
man,  the  whole  council  was  against  her.  Her  enemies  were 
all  that  drew  power  from  earth.  Her  supporters  were  her 
own  strong  enthusiasm,  and  the  headlong  contagion  by  10 
which  she  carried  this  sublime  frenzy  into  the  hearts 
of  women,  of  soldiers,  and  of  all  who  lived  by  labour. 
Henceforward  she  was  thwarted  ;  and  the  worst  error  that 
she  committed  was  to  lend  the  sanction  of  her  presence  to 
counsels  which  she  had  ceased  to  approve.  But  she  had  15 
now  accomplished  the  capital  objects  which  her  own  visions 
had  dictated.  These  involved  all  the  rest.  Errors  were 
now  less  important ;  and  doubtless  it  had  now  become 
more  difficult  for  herself  to  pronounce  authentically  what 
were  errors.  The  noble  girl  had  achieved,  as  by  a  rapture  20 
of  motion,  the  capital  end  of  clearing  out  a  free  space 
around  her  sovereign,  giving  him  the  power  to  move  his 
arms  with  effect,  and,  secondly,  the  inappreciable  end  of 
winning  for  that  sovereign  what  seemed  to  all  France  the 
heavenly  ratification  of  his  rights,  by  crowning  him  with  25 
the  ancient  solemnities.  She  had  made  it  impossible  for 
the  English  now  to  step  before  her.  They  were  caught 
in  an  irretrievable  blunder,  owing  partly  to  discord  among 
the  uncles  of  Henry  AT,  partly  to  a  want  of  funds,  but 
partly  to  the  very  impossibility  which  they  believed  to  30 
press  with  tenfold  force  upon  any  French  attempt  to  fore- 
stall theirs.  They  laughed  at  such  a  thought ;  and,  while 
they  laughed,  she  did  it.  Henceforth  the  single  redress 
for  the  English  of  this  capital  oversight,  but  which  never 


86  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

could  have  redressed  it  effectually,  was  to  vitiate  and  taint 
the  coronation  of  Charles  VII  as  the  work  of  a  witch. 
That  policy,  and  not  malice  (as  M.  Michelet  is  so  happy 
to  believe),  was  the  moving   principle  in  the  subsequent 

S  prosecution  of  Joanna.  Unless  they  unhinged  the  force  of 
the  first  coronation  in  the  popular  mind  by  associating 
it  with  power  given  from  hell,  they  felt  that  the  sceptre  of 
the  invader  was  broken. 

But  she,  the  child  that,  at  nineteen,  had  wrought  wonders 

10  so  great  for  France,  was  she  not  elated  ?  Did  she  not  lose, 
as  men  so  often  have  lost,  all  sobriety  of  mind  when  stand- 
ing upon  the  pinnacle  of  success  so  giddy  ?  Let  her 
enemies  declare.  During  the  progress  of  her  movement, 
and  in  the  centre   of  ferocious   struggles,  she   had  mani- 

15  fested  the  temper  of  her  feelings  by  the  pity  which  she 
had  everywhere  expressed  for  the  suffering  enemy.  She 
forwarded  to  the  English  leaders  a  touching  invitation 
to  unite  with  the  French,  as  brothers,  in  a  common  cru- 
sade against  infidels  —  thus  opening  the  road  for  a  soldierly 

20  retreat.  She  interposed  to  protect  the  captive  or  the 
wounded ;  she  mourned  over  the  excesses  of  her  coun- 
trymen ;  she  threw  herself  off  her  horse  to  kneel  by  the 
dying  English  soldier,  and  to  comfort  him  with  such  min- 
istrations, physical  or  spiritual,   as   his  situation  allowed. 

25  "  Nolebat,"  says  the  evidence,  "uti  ense  suo,  aut  quem- 
quam  interficere."  She  sheltered  the  English  that  invoked 
her  aid  in  her  own  quarters.  She  wept  as  she  beheld, 
stretched  on  the  field  of  battle,  so  many  brave  enemies 
that  had  died  without  confession.      And,  as  regarded  her- 

30  self,  her  elation  expressed  itself  thus:  on  the  day  when  she 
had  finished  her  work,  she  wept ;  for  she  knew  that,  when 
her  triumphal  task  was  done,  her  end  must  be  approach- 
ing. Her  aspirations  pointed  only  to  a  place  which  seemed 
to  her  more  than  usually  full  of  natural  piety,  as  one  in 


JOAN  OF  ARC  87 

which  it  would  give  her  pleasure  to  die.  And  she  uttered, 
between  smiles  and  tears,  as  a  wish  that  inexpressibly 
fascinated  her  heart,  and  yet  was  half  fantastic,  a  broken 
prayer  that  God  would  return  her  to  the  solitudes  from 
which  he  had  drawn  her,  and  suffer  her  to  become  a  shep-  5 
herdess  once  more.  It  was  a  natural  prayer,  because 
nature  has  laid  a  necessity  upon  every  human  heart  to 
seek  for  rest  and  to  shrink  from  torment.  Yet,  again, 
it  was  a  half-fantastic  prayer,  because,  from  childhood 
upward,  visions  that  she  had  no  power  to  mistrust,  and  the  10 
voices  which  sounded  in  her  ear  for  ever,  had  long  since 
persuaded  her  mind  that  for  her  no  such  prayer  could  be 
granted^  Too  well  she  felt  that  her  mission  must  be 
worked  out  to  the  end,  and  that  the  end  was  now  at  hand. 
All  went  wrong  from  this  time.  She  herself  had  created  15 
the  funds  out  of  which  the  French  restoration  should  grow; 
but  she  was  not  suffered  to  witness  their  development  or 
their  prosperous  application.  More  than  one  military  plan 
was  entered  upon  which  she  did  not  approve.  But  she 
still  continued  to  expose  her  person  as  before.  Severe  20 
wounds  had  not  taught  her  caution.  And  at  length,  in  a 
sortie  from  Compiegne  (whether  through  treacherous  col- 
lusion on  the  part  of  her  own  friends  is  doubtful  to  this 
day),  she  was  made  prisoner  by  the  Burgundians,  and 
finally  surrendered  to  the  English.  25 

Now  came  her  trial.  This  trial,  moving  of  course  under 
English  influence,  was  conducted  in  chief  by  the  Bishop  of 
Beauvais.  He  was  a  Frenchman,  sold  to  English  interests, 
and  hoping,  by  favour  of  the  English  leaders,  to  reach  the 
highest  preferment.  "  Bishop  that  art,  Archbishop  that  3° 
shalt  be,  Cardinal  that  mayest  be,"  were  the  words  that 
sounded  continually  in  his  ear ;  and  doubtless  a  whisper 
of  visions  still  higher,  of  a  triple  crown,  and  feet  upon  the 
necks  of  kings,  sometimes  stole  into  his  heart.     M.  Michelet 


88  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

is  anxious  to  keep  us  in  mind  that  this  bishop  was  but 
an  agent  of  the  English.  True.  But  it  does  not  better 
the  case  for  his  countryman  that,  being  an  accomplice 
in  the  crime,  making  himself  the  leader  in  the  persecution 
5  against  the  helpless  girl,  he  was  willing  to  be  all  this  in 
the  spirit,  and  with  the  conscious  vileness  of  a  cat's-paw. 
Never  from  the  foundations  of  the  earth  was  there  such  a 
trial  as  this,  if  it  were  laid  open  in  all  its  beauty  of  defence 
and  all  its  hellishness   of  attack.     Oh,  child  of  France ! 

10  shepherdess,  peasant  girl!  trodden  under  foot  by  all  around 
thee,  how  I  honour  thy  flashing  intellect,  quick  as  God's 
lightning,  and  true  as  God's  lightning  to  its  mark,  that  ran 
before  France  and  laggard  Europe  by  many  a  century,  con- 
founding the  malice  of  the  ensnarer,  and  making  dumb  the 

15  oracles  of  falsehood  !  Is  it  not  scandalous,  is  it  not  humili- 
ating to  civilization,  that,  even  at  this  day,  France  exhibits 
the  horrid  spectacle  of  judges  examining  the  prisoner  against 
himself ;  seducing  him,  by  fraud,  into  treacherous  conclu- 
sions against  his  own  head  ;  using  the  terrors  of  their  power 

20  for  extorting  confessions  from  the  frailty  of  hope;  n;iy 
(which  is  worse),  using  the  blandishments  of  condescension 
and  snaky  kindness  for  thawing  into  compliances  of  grati- 
tude those  whom  they  had  failed  to  freeze  into  terror  ? 
Wicked  judges!  barbarian  jurisprudence  !  —  that,  sitting  in 

25  your  own  conceit  on  the  summits  of  social  wisdom,  have 
yet  failed  to  learn  the  first  principles  of  criminal  justice  — 
sit  ye  humbly  and  with  docility  at  the  feet  of  this  girl  from 
Domremy,  that  tore  your  webs  of  cruelty  into  shreds  and 
dust.      "  Would    you    examine   me    as    a   witness    against 

30  myself  ?  "  was  the  question  by  which  many  times  she  defied 
their  arts.  Continually  she  showed  that  their  interrogations 
were  irrelevant  to  any  business  before  the  court,  or  that 
entered  into  the  ridiculous  charges  against  her.  General 
questions  were  proposed  to  her  on  points   of  casuistical 


JOAN  OF  ARC  89 

divinity;  two-edged  questions,  which  not  one  of  them- 
selves could  have  answered,  without,  on  the  one  side,  land- 
ing himself  in  heresy  (as  then  interpreted),  or,  on  the 
other,  in  some  presumptuous  expression  of  self-esteem. 
Next  came  a  wretched  Dominican,  that  pressed  her  with  5 
an  objection,  which,  if  applied  to  the  Bible,  would  tax 
every  one  of  its  miracles  with  unsoundness.  The  monk 
had  the  excuse  of  never  having  read  the  Bible.  M.  Michelet 
has  no  such  excuse ;  and  it  makes  one  blush  for  him,  as  a 
philosopher,  to  find  him  describing  such  an  argument  as  10 
"weighty,"  whereas  it  is  but  a  varied  expression  of  rude 
Mahometan  metaphysics.  Her  answer  to  this,  if  there 
were  room  to  place  the  whole  in  a  clear  light,  was  as  shat- 
tering as  it  was  rapid.  Another  thought  to  entrap  her  by 
asking  what  language  the  angelic  visitors  of  her  solitude  15 
had  talked  —  as  though  heavenly  counsels  could  want 
polyglot  interpreters  for  every  word,  or  that  God  needed 
language  at  all  in  whispering  thoughts  to  a  human  heart. 
Then  came  a  worse  devil,  who  asked  her  whether  the  Arch- 
angel Michael  had  appeared  naked.  Not  comprehending  20 
the  vile  insinuation,  Joanna,  whose  poverty  suggested  to  her 
simplicity  that  it  might  be  the  costliness  of  suitable  robes 
which  caused  the  demur,  asked  them  if  they  fancied  God, 
who  clothed  the  flowers  of  the  valleys,  unable  to  find 
raiment  for  his  servants.  The  answer  of  Joanna  moves  a  25 
smile  of  tenderness,  but  the  disappointment  of  her  judges 
makes  one  laugh  exultingly.  Others  succeeded  by  troops, 
who  upbraided  her  with  leaving  her  father  ;  as  if  that  greater 
Father,  whom  she  believed  herself  to  have  been  serving,  did 
not  retain  the  power  of  dispensing  with  his  own  rules,  or  30 
had  not  said  that  for  a  less  cause  than  martyrdom  man  and 
woman  should  leave  both  father  and  mother. 

On  Easter  Sunday,  when  the  trial  had  been  long  pro- 
ceeding, the  poor  girl  fell  so  ill  as  to  cause  a  belief  that 


90  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

she  had  been  poisoned.  It  was  not  poison.  Nobody  had 
any  interest  in  hastening  a  death  so  certain.  M.  Michelet, 
whose  sympathies  with  all  feelings  are  so  quick  that  one 
would  gladly  see  them  always  as  justly  directed,  reads  the 

5  case  most  truly.  Joanna  had  a  twofold  malady.  She  was 
visited  by  a  paroxysm  of  the  complaint  called  homesickness. 
The  cruel  nature  of  her  imprisonment,  and  its  length,  could 
not  but  point  her  solitary  thoughts,  in  darkness  and  in 
chains  (for    chained    she   was),    to    Domre'my.      And    the 

io  season,  which  was  the  most  heavenly  period  of  the  spring, 
added  stings  to  this  yearning.  That  was  one  of  her  mala- 
dies—  nostalgia,  as  medicine  calls  it;  the  other  was  weari- 
ness and  exhaustion  from  daily  combats  with  malice.  She 
saw  that  everybody  hated  her  and  thirsted  for  her  blood ; 

15  nay,  many  kind-hearted  creatures  that  would  have  pitied 
her  profoundly,  as  regarded  all  political  charges,  had  their 
natural  feelings  warped  by  the  belief  that  she  had  dealings 
with  fiendish  powers.  She  knew  she  was  to  die  ;  that  was 
not  the   misery  !  the   misery  was  that   this  consummation 

20  could  not  be  reached  without  so  much  intermediate  strife, 
as  if  she  were  contending  for  some  chance  (where  chance 
was  none)  of  happiness,  or  were  dreaming  for  a  moment 
of  escaping  the  inevitable.  Why,  then,  did  she  contend  ? 
Knowing  that  she  would  reap  nothing  from  answering  her 

25  persecutors,  why  did  she  not  retire  by  silence  from  the 
superfluous  contest?  It  was  because  her  quick  and  eager 
loyalty  to  truth  would  not  suffer  her  to  see  it  darkened  by 
frauds  which  she  could  expose,  but  others,  even  of  candid 
listeners,  perhaps,  could  not;  it  was  through  that  imperish- 

30  able  grandeur  of  soul  which  taught  her  to  submit  meekly 
and  without  a  struggle  to  her  punishment,  but  taught  her 
not  to  submit  —  no,  not  for  a  moment  —  to  calumny  as  to 
facts,  or  to  misconstruction  as  to  motives.  Besides,  there 
were  secretaries  all  around  the  court  taking  down  her  words. 


JOAN  OF  ARC  91 

That  was  meant  for  no  good  to  her.  But  the  end  does  not 
always  correspond  to  the  meaning.  And  Joanna  might  say  to 
herself,  "  These  words  that  will  be  used  against  me  to-morrow 
and  the  next  day,  perhaps,  in  some  nobler  generation,  may 
rise  again  for  my  justification."  Yes,  Joanna,  they  are  rising  5 
even  now  in  Paris,  and  for  rnore  than  justification  ! 

Woman,  sister,  there  are  some  things  which  you  do  not 
execute  as  well  as  your  brother,  man ;  no,  nor  ever  will. 
Pardon  me  if  I  doubt  whether  you  will  ever  produce  a 
great  poet  from  your  choirs,  or  a  Mozart,  or  a  Phidias,  or  ic 
a  Michael  Angelo,  or  a  great  philosopher,  or  a  great  scholar. 
By  which  last  is  meant  —  not  one  who  depends  simply  on 
an  infinite  memory,  but  also  on  an  infinite  and  electrical 
power  of  combination ;  bringing  together  from  the  four 
winds,  like  the  angel  of  the  resurrection,  what  else  were  15 
dust  from  dead  men's  bones,  into  the  unity  of  breathing 
life.  If  you  can  create  yourselves  into  any  of  these  great 
creators,  why  have  you  not  ? 

Yet,  sister  woman,  though  I  cannot  consent  to  find  a 
Mozart  or  a  Michael  Angelo  in  your  sex,  cheerfully,  and  20 
with  the  love  that  burns  in  depths  of  admiration,  I  acknowl- 
edge that  you  can  do  one  thing  as  well  as  the  best  of  us 
men  — a  greater  thing  than  even  Milton  is  known  to  have 
done,  or  Michael  Angelo  ;  you  can  die  grandly,  and  as 
goddesses  would  die,  were  goddesses  mortal.  If  any  dis-  25 
tant  worlds  (which  may  be  the  case)  are  so  far  ahead  of  us 
Tellurians  in  optical  resources  as  to  see  distinctly  through 
their  telescopes  all  that,  we  do  on  earth,  what  is  the 
grandest  sight  to  which  we  ever  treat  them  ?  St.  Peter's 
at  Rome,  do  you  fancy,  on  Easter  Sunday,  or  Luxor,  or  3° 
perhaps  the  Himalayas  ?  Oh,  no  !  my  friend  ;  suggest  some- 
thing better  ;  these  are  baubles  to  them;  they  see  in  other 
worlds,  in  their  own,  far  better  toys  of  the  same  kind. 
These,  take  my  word  for  it,  are  nothing.     Do  you  give  it 


92  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

up  ?  The  finest  thing,  then,  we  have  to  show  them  is  a 
scaffold  on  the  morning  of  execution.  I  assure  you  there 
is  a  strong  muster  in  those  far  telescopic  worlds,  on  any 
such    morning,  of    those  who  happen    to  find   themselves 

5  occupying  the  right  hemisphere  for  a  peep  at  us.  How, 
then,  if  it  be  announced  in  some  such  telescopic  world  by 
those  who  make  a  livelihood  of  catching  glimpses  at  our 
newspapers,  whose  language  they  have  long  since  deci- 
phered, that  the  poor  victim  in  the  morning's  sacrifice  is  a 

10  woman  ?  How,  if  it  be  published  in  that  distant  world 
that  the  sufferer  wears  upon  her  head,  in  the  eyes  of  many, 
the  garlands  of  martyrdom  ?  How,  if  it  should  be  some 
Marie  Antoinette,  the  widowed  queen,  coming  forward  on 
the  scaffold,  and  presenting  to  the  morning  air  her  head, 

15  turned  gray  by  sorrow  —  daughter  of  Caesars  kneeling  down 
humbly  to  kiss  the  guillotine,  as  one  that  worships  death  ? 
How,  if  it  were  the  noble  Charlotte  Corday,  that  in  the 
bloom  of  youth,  that  with  the  loveliest  of  persons,  that 
with  homage  waiting  upon  her  smiles  wherever  she  turned 

20  her  face  to  scatter  them — homage  that  followed  those 
smiles  as  surely  as  the  carols  of  birds,  after  showers  in 
spring,  follow  the  reappearing  sun  and  the  racing  of  sun- 
beams over  the  hills  —  yet  thought  all  these  things  cheaper 
than  the  dust  upon  her  sandals,  in  comparison  of  deliver- 

25  ance  from  hell  for  her  dear  suffering  France  !  Ah  !  these 
were  spectacles  indeed  for  those  sympathising  people  in 
distant  worlds;  and  some,  perhaps,  would  suffer  a  sort  of 
martyrdom  themselves,  because  they  could  not  testify  their 
wrath,  could  not  bear  witness  to  the  strength  of  love  and  to 

30  the  fury  of  hatred  that  burned  within  them  at  such  scenes, 
could  not  gather  into  golden  urns  some  of  that  glorious 
dust  which  rested  in  the  catacombs  of  earth. 

On  the  Wednesday  after  Trinity  Sunday  in   1 43 1,  being 
then   about   nineteen  years  of  age,  the  Maid  of  Arc  under- 


JOAN  OF  ARC  93 

went  her  martyrdom.  She  was  conducted  before  mid-day, 
guarded  by  eight  hundred  spearmen,  to  a  platform  of  pro- 
digious height,  constructed  of  wooden  billets  supported  by 
occasional  walls  of  lath  and  plaster,  and  traversed  by  hollow 
spaces  in  every  direction  for  the  creation  of  air  currents.  5 
The  pile  "  struck  terror,"  says  M.  Michelet,  "  by  its  height " ; 
and,  as  usual,  the  English  purpose  in  this  is  viewed  as  one 
of  pure  malignity.  But  there  are  two  ways  of  explaining 
all  that.  It  is  probable  that  the  purpose  was  merciful. 
On  the  circumstances  of  the  execution  I  shall  not  linger.  10 
Yet,  to  mark  the  almost  fatal  felicity  of  M.  Michelet  in 
finding  out  whatever  may  injure  the  English  name,  at  a 
moment  when  every  reader  will  be  interested  in  Joanna's 
personal  appearance,  it  is  really  edifying  to  notice  the  inge- 
nuity by  which  he  draws  into  light  from  a  dark  corner  a  15 
very  unjust  account  of  it,  and  neglects,  though  lying  upon 
the  highroad,  a  very  pleasing  one.  Both  are  from  English 
pens.  Grafton,  a  chronicler,  but  little  read,  being  a  stiff- 
necked  John  Bull,  thought  fit  to  say  that  no  wonder  Joanna 
should  be  a  virgin,  since  her  "  foule  face  "  was  a  satis-  20 
factory  solution  of  that  particular  merit.  Holinshead,  on 
the  other  hand,  a  chronicler  somewhat  later,  every  way 
more  important,  and  at  one  time  universally  read,  has  given 
a  very  pleasing  testimony  to  the  interesting  character  of 
Joanna's  person  and  engaging  manners.  Neither  of  these  25 
men  lived  till  the  following  century,  so  that  personally  this 
evidence  is  none  at  all.  Grafton  sullenly  and  carelessly 
believed  as  he  wished  to  believe  ;  Holinshead  took  pains 
to  inquire,  and  reports  undoubtedly  the  general  impression 
of  France.  But  I  cite  the  case  as  illustrating  M.  Michelet's  30 
candour.1 

1  Amongst  the  many  ebullitions  of  M.  Michelet's  fury  against  us 
poor  English  are  four  which  will  be  likely  to  amuse  the  reader ;  and 
they  are  the  more  conspicuous  in  collision  with  the  justice  which  he 


94  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

The    circumstantial   incidents  of   the   execution,   unless 

with  more  space  than  I   can  now  command,  I  should  be 

unwilling  to  relate.     I  should  fear  to  injure,  by  imperfect 

report,  a  martyrdom  which  to  myself  appears  so  unspeak- 

5  ably  grand.     Yet,  for  a  purpose,  pointing  not  at  Joanna, 

sometimes  does  us,  and  the  very  indignant  admiration  which,  under 
some  aspects,  he  grants  to  us. 

i.  Our  English  literature  he  admires  with  some  gnashing  of  teeth. 
He  pronounces  it  "  fine  and  sombre,"  but,  I  lament  to  add,  "  skeptical, 
Judaic,  Satanic  —  in  a  word,  antichristian."  That  Lord  Byron  should 
figure  as  a  member  of  this  diabolical  corporation  will  not  surprise  men. 
It  will  surprise  them  to  hear  that  Milton  is  one  of  its  Satanic  leaders. 
Many  are  the  generous  and  eloquent  Frenchmen,  besides  Chateau- 
briand, who  have,  in  the  course  of  the  last  thirty  years,  nobly  suspended 
their  own  burning  nationality,  in  order  to  render  a  more  rapturous 
homage  at  the  feet  of  Milton  ;  and  some  of  them  have  raised  Milton 
almost  to  a  level  with  angelic  natures.  Not  one  of  them  has  thought 
of  looking  for  him  below  the  earth.  As  to  Shakspere,  M.  Michelet 
detects  in  him  a  most  extraordinary  mare's  nest.  It  is  this  :  he  does 
"  not  recollect  to  have  seen  the  name  of  God  "  in  any  part  of  his 
works.  On  reading  such  words,  it  is  natural  to  rub  one's  eyes,  and  sus- 
pect that  all  one  has  ever  seen  in  this  world  may  have  been  a  pure 
ocular  delusion.  In  particular,  I  begin  myself  to  suspect  that  the 
word  "la  gloire"  never  occurs  in  any  Parisian  journal.  "The  great 
English  nation,"  says  M.  Michelet,  "  has  one  immense  profound  vice  " 
—  to  wit,  "pride."  Why,  really,  that  may  be  true;  but  we  have  a 
neighbour  not  absolutely  clear  of  an  "  immense  profound  vice,"  as  like 
ours  in  colour  and  shape  as  cherry  to  cherry.  In  short,  M.  Michelet 
thinks  us,  by  fits  and  starts,  admirable  —  only  that  we  are  detestable  ; 
and  he  would  adore  some  of  our  authors,  were  it  not  that  so  intensely 
he  could  have  wished  to  kick  them. 

2.  M.  Michelet  thinks  to  lodge  an  arrow  in  our  sides  by  a  very  odd 
remark  upon  Thomas  a  Kempis  :  which  is,  that  a  man  of  any  conceiv- 
able European  blood  —  a  Finlander,  suppose,  or  a  Zantiote — might 
have  written  Tom;  only  not  an  Englishman.  Whether  an  Englishman 
could  have  forged  Tom  must  remain  a  matter  of  doubt,  unless  the 
thing  had  been  tried  long  ago.  That  problem  was  intercepted  for  ever 
by  Tom's  perverseness  in  choosing  to  manufacture  himself.  Yet,  since 
nobody  is  better  aware  than  M.  Michelet  that  this  very  point  of  Kempis 


JOAN  OF  ARC  95 

but  at  M.  Michelet —  viz.,  to  convince  him  that  an  English- 
man is  capable  of  thinking  more  highly  of  La  Pucelle  than 
even  her  admiring  countrymen — I  shall,  in  parting,  allude 
to  one  or  two  traits  in  Joanna's  demeanour  on  the  scaffold, 
and  to  one  or  two  in  that  of  the  bystanders,  which  authorise    5 

having  manufactured  Kempis  is  furiously  and  hopelessly  litigated,  three 
or  four  nations  claiming  to  have  forged  his  work  for  him,  the  shocking 
old  doubt  will  raise  its  snaky  head  once  more  —  whether  this  forger, 
who  rests  in  so  much  darkness,  might  not,  after  all,  be  of  English 
blood.  Tom,  it  may  be  feared,  is  known  to  modern  English  literature 
chiefly  by  an  irreverent  mention  of  his  name  in  a  line  of  Peter  Pindar's 
(Ur.  Wolcot)  fifty  years  back,  where  he  is  described  as 

"  Kempis  Tom, 
Who  clearly  shows  the  way  to  Kingdom  Come." 

Few  in  these  days  can  have  read  him,  unless  in  the  Methodist  version  of 
John  Wesley.  Among  those  few,  however,  happens  to  be  myself; 
which  arose  from  the  accident  of  having,  when  a  boy  of  eleven,  received 
a  copy  of  the  "  De  Imitatione  Christi "  as  a  bequest  from  a  relation 
who  died  very  young ;  from  which  cause,  and  from  the  external  pretti- 
ness  of  the  book  —  being  a  Glasgow  reprint  by  the  celebrated  Foulis, 
and  gaily  bound  —  I  was  induced  to  look  into  it,  and  finally  read  it 
many  times  over,  partly  out  of  some  sympathy  which,  even  in  those 
days,  I  had  with  its  simplicity  and  devotional  fervour,  but  much  more 
from  the  savage  delight  I  found  in  laughing  at  Tom's  Latinity.  That,  I 
freely  grant  to  M.  Michelet,  is  inimitable.  Yet,  after  all,  it  is  not  cer- 
tain whether  the  original  was  Latin.  But,  however  that  may  have 
been,  if  it  is  possible  that  M.  Michelet*  can  be  accurate  in  saying  that 
there  are  no  less  than  sixty  French  versions  (not  editions,  observe,  but 
separate    versions)  existing   of  the  "  De  Imitatione,"   how  prodigious 

*  "  If  M.  Jilickelet  can  be  accurate":  —  However,  on  consideration,  this  statement 
does  not  depend  on  Michelet.  The  bibliographer  Barbier  has  absolutely  specified 
sixty  in  a  separate  dissertation,  soixante  traductions,  among  those  even  that  have  not 
escaped  the  search.  The  Italian  translations  are  said  to  be  thirty.  As  to  mere 
editions,  not  counting  the  early  MSS.  for  half  a  century  before  printing  was  introduced, 
those  in  Latin  amount  to  2000,  and  those  in  French  to  1000.  Meantime,  it  is  very  dear 
to  me  that  this  astonishing  popularity,  so  entirely  unparalleled  in  literature,  could  not 
have  existed  except  in  Roman  Catholic  times,  nor  subsequently  have  lingered  in  any 
Protestant  land.  It  was  the  denial  of  Scripture  fountains  to  thirsty  lands  which  made 
this  slender  rill  of  Scripture  truth  so  passionately  welcome. 


96  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE  Y 

me  in  questioning  an  opinion  of  his  upon  this  martyr's  firm- 
ness. The  reader  ought  to  be  reminded  that  Joanna  D'Arc 
was  subjected  to  an  unusually  unfair  trial  of  opinion.  Any 
of  the  elder  Christian  martyrs  had  not  much  to  fear  of  per- 
5  sonal  rancour.     The  martyr  was  chiefly  regarded   as   the 

must  have  been  the  adaptation  of  the  book  to  the  religious  heart  of  the 
fifteenth  century  !  Excepting  the  Bible,  but  excepting  that  only  in 
Protestant  lands,  no  book  known  to  man  has  had  the  same  distinction. 
It  is  the  most  marvellous  bibliographical  fact  on  record. 

3.  Our  English  girls,  it  seems,  are  as  faulty  in  one  way  as  we  English 
males  in  another.  None  of  us  men  could  have  written  the  Opera  Omnia 
of  Mr.  a  Kempis ;  neither  could  any  of  our  girls  have  assumed  male 
attire  like  La  Pucelle.  But  why  ?  Because,  says  Michelet,  English 
girls  and  German  think  so  much  of  an  indecorum.  Well,  that  is  a 
good  fault,  generally  speaking.  But  M.  Michelet  ought  to  have  remem- 
bered a  fact  in  the  martyrologies  which  justifies  both  parties  —  the 
French  heroine  for  doing,  and  the  general  choir  of  English  girls  for 
not  doing.  A  female  saint,  specially  renowned  in  France,  had,  for  a 
reason  as  weighty  as  Joanna's  —  viz.,  expressly  to  shield  her  modesty 
among  men  —  worn  a  male  military  harness.  That  reason  and  that 
example  authorised  La  Pucelle  ;  but  our  English  girls,  as  a  body,  have 
seldom  any  such  reason,  and  certainly  no  such  saintly  example,  to 
plead.  This  excuses  them.  Yet,  still,  if  it  is  indispensable  to  the 
national  character  that  our  young  women  should  now  and  then  tres- 
pass over  the  frontier  of  decorum,  it  then  becomes  a  patriotic  duty  in 
me  to  assure  M.  Michelet  that  we  have  such  ardent  females  among  us, 
and  in  a  long  series ;  some  detected  in  naval  hospitals  when  too  sick  to 
remember  their  disguise  ;  some  on  fields  of  battle  ;  multitudes  never 
detected  at  all  ;  some  only  suspected ;  and  others  discharged  without 
noise  by  war  offices  and  other  absurd  people.  In  our  navy,  both  royal 
and  commercial,  and  generally  from  deep  remembrances  of  slighted 
love,  women  have  sometimes  served  in  disguise  for  many  years,  taking 
contentedly  their  daily  allowance  of  burgoo,  biscuit,  or  cannon-balls  — 
anything,  in  short,  digestible  or  indigestible,  that  it  might  please  Provi- 
dence to  send.  One  thing,  at  least,  is  to  their  credit :  never  any  of 
these  poor  masks,  with  their  deep  silent  remembrances,  have  been 
detected  through  murmuring,  or  what  is  nautically  understood  by 
"skulking."  So,  for  once,  M.  Michelet  has  an  erratum  to  enter  upon 
the  flyleaf  of  his  book  in  presentation  copies. 


JOAN  OF  ARC  97 

enemy  of  Caesar ;  at  times,  also,  where  any  knowledge  of 
the  Christian  faith  and  morals  existed,  with  the  enmity 
that  arises  spontaneously  in  the  worldly  against  the  spirit- 
ual. But  the  martyr,  though  disloyal,  was  not  supposed 
to  be  therefore  anti-national ;  and  still  less  was  individually 
hateful.  What  was  hated  (if  anything)  belonged  to  his 
class,  not  to  himself  separately.  Now,  Joanna,  if  hated  at 
all,  was  hated  personally,  and  in  Rouen  on  national  grounds. 

4.  But  the  last  of  these  ebullitions  is  the  most  lively.  We  English, 
at  Orleans,  and  after  Orleans  (which  is  not  quite  so  extraordinary,  if  all 
were  told),  fled  before  the  Maid  of  Arc.  Yes,  says  M.  Michelet,  you 
did:  deny  it,  if  you  can.  Deny  it,  nton  cher  ?  I  don't  mean  to  deny 
it.  Running  away,  in  many  cases,  is  a  thing  so  excellent  that  no  phil- 
osopher would,  at  times,  condescend  to  adopt  any  other  step.  All  of 
us  nations  in  Europe,  without  one  exception,  have  shown  our  phil- 
osophy in  that  way  at  times.  Even  people  "  qui  ne  se  rendent  pas  " 
have  deigned  both  to  run  and  to  shout,  "  Sauve  qui  peut ! "  at  odd 
times  of  sunset ;  though,  for  my  part,  I  have  no  pleasure  in  recalling 
unpleasant  remembrances  to  brave  men ;  and  yet,  really,  being  so  phil- 
osophic, they  ought  not  to  be  unpleasant.  But  the  amusing  feature  in 
M.  Michelet's  reproach  is  the  way  in  which  he  improves  and  varies 
against  us  the  charge  of  running,  as  if  he  were  singing  a  catch.  Listen 
to  him:  They  "showed  their  backs"  did  these  English.  (Hip,  hip, 
hurrah!  three  times  three!)  "  Behind  good  walls  they  let  themselves  be 
taken."  (Hip,  hip  !  nine  times  nine  !)  They  "  ran  as  fast  as  their  legs 
could  carry  them"  (Hurrah  !  twenty-seven  times  twenty-seven  !)  They 
"ran  before  a  girl";  they  did.  (Hurrah!  eighty-one  times  eighty- 
one  !)  This  reminds  one  of  criminal  indictments  on  the  old  model 
in  English  courts,  where  (for  fear  the  prisoner  should  escape)  the  crown 
lawyer  varied  the  charge  perhaps  through  forty  counts.  The  law  laid 
its  guns  so  as  to  rake  the  accused  at  every  possible  angle.  While  the 
indictment  was  reading,  he  seemed  a  monster  of  crime  in  his  own 
eyes ;  and  yet,  after  all,  the  poor  fellow  had  but  committed  one  offence, 
and  not  always  that.  N.  B.  —  Not  having  the  French  original  at 
hand,  I  make  my  quotations  from  a  friend's  copy  of  Mr.  Walter  Kelly's 
translation  ;  which  seems  to  me  faithful,  spirited,  and  idiomatically 
English  —  liable,  in  fact,  only  to  the  single  reproach  of  occasional 
provincialisms. 


98  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

Hence  there  would  be  a  certainty  of  calumny  arising 
against  her  such  as  would  not  affect  martyrs  in  general. 
That  being  the  case,  it  would  follow  of  necessity  that  some 
people  would  impute  to  her  a  willingness  to  recant.  No 
5  innocence  could  escape  that.  Now,  had  she  really  testified 
this  willingness  on  the  scaffold,  it  would  have  argued  noth- 
ing at  all  but  the  weakness  of  a  genial  nature  shrinking 
from  the  instant  approach  of  torment.  And  those  will 
often  pity  that  weakness  most  who,  in  their  own  persons, 

10  would  yield  to  it  least.  Meantime,  there  never  was  a 
calumny  uttered  that  drew  less  support  from  the  recorded 
circumstances.  It  rests  upon  no  positive  testimony,  and 
it  has  a  weight  of  contradicting  testimony  to  stem.  And 
yet,  strange  to  say,  M.   Michelet,  who  at  times  seems  to 

15  admire  the  Maid  of  Arc  as  much  as  I  do,  is  the  one  sole 
writer  among  her  friends  who  lends  some  countenance  to 
this  odious  slander.  His  words  are  that,  if  she  did  not 
utter  this  word  recant  with  her  lips,  she  uttered  it  in  her 
heart.      "  Whether  she  said  the  word  is  uncertain  ;  but  I 

20  affirm  that  she  thought  it." 

Now,  I  affirm  that  she  did  not ;  not  in  any  sense  of  the 
word  "thought"  applicable  to  the  case.  Here  is  France 
calumniating  La  Pucelle ;  here  is  England  defending  her. 
M.   Michelet  can  only  mean   that,   on  a  priori  principles, 

25  every  woman  must  be  presumed  liable  to  such  a  weak- 
ness;  that  Joanna  was  a  woman;  ergo,  that  she  was  liable 
to  such  a  weakness.  That  is,  he  only  supposes  her  to 
have  uttered  the  word  by  an  argument  which  presumes  it 
impossible  for  anybody  to  have  done  otherwise.      I,  on  the 

30  contrary,  throw  the  onus  of  the  argument  not  on  presum- 
able tendencies  of  nature,  but  on  the  known  facts  of  that 
morning's  execution,  as  recorded  by  multitudes.  What 
else,  I  demand,  than  mere  weight  of  metal,  absolute  nobil- 
ity  of    deportment,    broke    the    vast    line    of    battle    then 


JOAN  OF  ARC  99 

arrayed  against  her  ?  What  else  but  her  meek,  saintly 
demeanour  won,  from  the  enemies  that  till  now  had  believed 
her  a  witch,  tears  of  rapturous  admiration  ?  "  Ten  thou- 
sand men,"  says  M.  Michelet  himself — "  ten  thousand 
men  wept "  ;  and  of  these  ten  thousand  the  majority  were  5 
political  enemies  knitted  together  by  cords  of  superstition. 
What  else  was  it  but  her  constancy,  united  with  her  angelic 
gentleness,  that  drove  the  fanatic  English  soldier  —  who 
had  sworn  to  throw  a  fagot  on  her  scaffold  as  his  tribute 
of  abhorrence,  that  did  so,  that  fulfilled  his  vow  —  sud-  10 
denly  to  turn  away  a  penitent  for  life,  saying  everywhere 
that  he  had  seen  a  dove  rising  upon  wings  to  heaven  from 
the  ashes  where  she  had  stood  ?  What  else  drove  the  exe- 
cutioner to  kneel  at  every  shrine  for  pardon  to  his  share  in 
the  tragedy?  And,  if  all  this  were  insufficient,  then  I  cite  15 
the  closing  act  of  her  life  as  valid  on  her  behalf,  were 
all  other  testimonies  against  her.  The  executioner  had 
been  directed  to  apply  his  torch  from  below.  He  did 
so.  The  fiery  smoke  rose  upward  in  billowing  volumes. 
A  Dominican  monk  was  then  standing  almost  at  her  side.  20 
Wrapped  up  in  his  sublime  office,  he  saw  not  the  danger, 
but  still  persisted  in  his  prayers.  Even  then,  when  the 
last  enemy  was  racing  up  the  fiery  stairs  to  seize  her,  even 
at  that  moment  did  this  noblest  of  girls  think  only  for  him, 
the  one  friend  that  would  not  forsake  her,  and  not  for  her-  25 
self ;  bidding  him  with  her  last  breath  to  care  for  his  own 
preservation,  but  to  leave  her  to  God.  That  girl,  whose 
latest  breath  ascended  in  this  sublime  expression  of  self- 
oblivion,  did  not  utter  the  word  recant  either  with  her  lips 
or  in  her  heart.  No  ;  she  did  not,  though  one  should  rise  30 
from  the  dead  to  swear  it. 

Bishop    of    Beauvais !   thy   victim   died    in    fire   upon   a 
scaffold  —  thou  upon  a  down  bed.     But,  for  the  departing 


ioo  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE  Y 

minutes  of  life,  both  are  oftentimes  alike.  At  the  farewell 
crisis,  when  the  gates  of  death  are  opening,  and  flesh  is 
resting  from  its  struggles,  oftentimes  the  tortured  and  the 
torturer  have  the  same  truce  from  carnal  torment ;  both 
5  sink  together  into  sleep ;  together  both  sometimes  kindle 
into  dreams.  When  the  mortal  mists  were  gathering  fast 
upon  you  two,  bishop  and  shepherd  girl  —  when  the  pavil- 
ions of  life  were  closing  up  their  shadowy  curtains  about 
you  —  let  us  try,  through  the  gigantic  glooms,  to  decipher 

10  the  flying  features  of  your  separate  visions. 

The  shepherd  girl  that  had  delivered  France  —  she,  from 
her  dungeon,  she,  from  her  baiting  at  the  stake,  she,  from 
her  duel  with  fire,  as  she  entered  her  last  dream  —  saw 
Domremy,  saw  the  fountain  of  Domre'my,  saw  the  pomp  of 

15  forests  in  which  her  childhood  had  wandered.  That  Easter 
festival  which  man  had  denied  to  her  languishing  heart  — 
that  resurrection  of  springtime,  which  the  darkness  of  dun- 
geons had  intercepted  from  her,  hungering  after  the  glorious 
liberty  of  forests  —  were  by  God  given  back  into  her  hands 

20  as  jewels  that  had  been  stolen  from  her  by  robbers.  With 
those,  perhaps  (for  the  minutes  of  dreams  can  stretch  into 
ages),  was  given  back  to  her  by  God  the  bliss  of  childhood. 
By  special  privilege  for  her  might  be  created,  in  this  fare- 
well dream,  a  second  childhood,  innocent  as  the  first;  but 

25  not,  like  that,  sad  with  the  gloom  of  a  fearful  mission  in 
the  rear.  This  mission  had  now  been  fulfilled.  The  storm 
was  weathered ;  the  skirts  even  of  that  mighty  storm  were 
drawing  off.  The  blood  that  she  was  to  reckon  for  had 
been  exacted  ;  the  tears  that  she  was  to  shed  in  secret  had 

30  been  paid  to  the  last.  The  hatred  to  herself  in  all  eyes 
had  been  faced  steadily,  had  been  suffered,  had  been  sur- 
vived. And  in  her  last  fight  upon  the  scaffold  she  had 
triumphed  gloriously;  victoriously  she  had  tasted  the 
stings   of   death.     For   all,  except   this   comfort   from  her 


JOAN  OF  ARC  ioi 

farewell  dream,  she  had  died  —  died  amid  the  tears  of  ten 
thousand  enemies  —  died  amid  the  drums  and  trumpets  of 
armies  —  died  amid  peals  redoubling  upon  peals,  volleys 
upon  .volleys,  from  the  saluting  clarions  of  martyrs. 

Bishop  of  Beauvais  !  because  the  guilt-burdened  man  is    5 
in  dreams  haunted  and  waylaid  by  the  most  frightful  of  his 
crimes,  and  because  upon  that  fluctuating  mirror  —  rising 
(like  the  mocking  mirrors  of  mirage  in  Arabian  deserts) 
from  the  fens  of  death — most  of  all  are  reflected  the  sweet 
countenances  which  the  man  has  laid  in  ruins  ;  therefore  I  10 
know,  bishop,  that  you  also,  entering  your  final  dream,  saw 
Domremy.      That  fountain,  of  which  the  witnesses  spoke 
so  much,  showed  itself  to  your  eyes  in  pure  morning  dews ; 
but  neither  dews,  nor  the  holy  dawn,  could  cleanse  away 
the  bright  spots  of  innocent  blood  upon  its  surface.     By  15 
the  fountain,  bishop,   you  saw  a  woman  seated,  that  hid 
her  face.      But,  as  you  draw  near,  the  woman  raises  her 
wasted  features.     Would  Domremy  know  them  again  for 
the  features  of  her  child  ?    Ah,  but  you  know  them,  bishop, 
well !     Oh,  mercy  !  what  a  groan  was  that  which  the  ser-  20 
vants,  waiting  outside  the  bishop's  dream  at  his  bedside, 
heard  from  his  labouring  heart,  as  at  this  moment  he  turned 
away  from  the  fountain  and  the  woman,  seeking  rest  in  the 
forests  afar  off.     Yet  not  so  to  escape  the  woman,  whom 
once  again  he  must  behold  before  he  dies.     In  the  forests  25 
to  which  he  prays  for  pity,  will  he  find  a  respite  ?     What  a 
tumult,  what  a  gathering  of  feet  is  there  !     In  glades  where 
only  wild  deer  should  run  armies  and  nations  are  assem- 
bling ;   towering   in   the   fluctuating   crowd   are    phantoms 
that  belong  to  departed  hours.     There  is  the  great  English  30 
Prince,    Regent   of   France.     There   is   my   Lord  of  Win- 
chester, the  princely  cardinal,  that  died  and  made  no  sign. 
There  is  the  bishop  of  Beauvais,  clinging  to  the  shelter  of 
thickets.     What  building  is  that  which  hands  so  rapid  are 


102  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

raising  ?  Is  it  a  martyr's  scaffold  ?  Will  they  burn  the 
child  of  Domremy  a  second  time  ?  No  ;  it  is  a  tribunal 
that  rises  to  the  clouds ;  and  two  nations  stand  around  it, 
waiting  for  a  trial.     Shall  my  Lord  of  Beauvais  sit  again 

5  upon  the  judgment-seat,  and  again  number  the  hours  for 
the  innocent  ?  Ah,  no !  he  is  the  prisoner  at  the  bar. 
Already  all  is  waiting :  the  mighty  audience  is  gathered, 
the  Court  is  hurrying  to  their  seats,  the  witnesses  are 
arrayed,  the  trumpets  are  sounding,  the  judge  is  taking  his 

10  place.  Oh,  but  this  is  sudden  !  My  lord,  have  you  no 
counsel  ?  "  Counsel  I  have  none ;  in  heaven  above,  or  on 
earth  beneath,  counsellor  there  is  none  now  that  would  take 
a  brief  from  me :  all  are  silent."  Is  it,  indeed,  come  to  this  ? 
Alas  !  the  time  is  short,  the  tumult  is  wondrous,  the  crowd 

15  stretches  away  into  infinity;  but  yet  I  will  search  in  it  for 
somebody  to  take  your  brief  ;  I  know  of  somebody  that  will 
be  your  counsel.  Who  is  this  that  cometh  from  Domre'my  ? 
Who  is  she  in  bloody  coronation  robes  from  Rheims  ?  Who 
is  she  that  cometh  with  blackened  flesh  from  walking  the 

20  furnaces  of  Rouen  ?  This  is  she,  the  shepherd  girl,  coun- 
sellor that  had  none  for  herself,  whom  I  choose,  bishop,  for 
yours.  She  it  is,  I  engage,  that  shall  take  my  lord's  brief. 
She  it  is,  bishop,  that  would  plead  for  you  ;  yes,  bishop,  she 
—  when  heaven  and  earth  are  silent. 


NOTES 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 

"  In  October  1849  there  appeared  in  Blackwood' 's  Magazine  an  article 
entitled  The  English  Mail-Coach,  or  the  Glory  of  Motion.  There  was 
no  intimation  that  it  was  to  be  continued;  but  in  December  1849  there 
followed  in  the  same  magazine  an  article  in  two  sections,  headed  by 
a  paragraph  explaining  that  it  was  by  the  author  of  the  previous  article 
in  the  October  number,  and  was  to  be  taken  in  connexion  with  that 
article.  One  of  the  sections  of  this  second  article  was  entitled  The 
Vision  of  Sudden  Death,  and  the  other  Dream- Fugue  on  the  above  thctne 
of  Sudden  Death.  When  De  Quincey  revised  the  papers  in  1854  for 
republication  in  volume  iv  of  the  Collective  Edition  of  his  writings,  he 
brought  the  whole  under  the  one  general  title  of  The  English  Mail- 
Coach,  dividing  the  text,  as  at  present,  into  three  sections  or  chapters, 
the  first  with  the  sub-title  The  Glory  of  Motion,  the  second  with  the 
sub-title  The  Vision  of  Sudden  Death,  and  the  third  with  the  sub-title 
Dream-Fugue,  founded  on  the  preceding  theme  of  Sudden  Death.  Great 
care  was  bestowed  on  the  revision.  Passages  that  had  appeared  in  the 
magazine  articles  were  omitted ;  new  sentences  were  inserted ;  and  the 
language  was  retouched  throughout." — Masson.  Cf.  as  to  the  revi- 
sion, Professor  Dowden's  article,  "  How  De  Quincey  worked," Saturday 
Review,  Feb.  23,  1895.  This  selection  is  found  in  Works,  Masson's  ed., 
Vol.  XIII,  pp.  270-327;  Riverside  ed.,  Vol.  I,  pp.  517-582. 

1  6  He  had  married  the  daughter  of  a  duke :  "  Mr.  John  Palmer,  a 
native  of  Bath,  and  from  about  1768  the  energetic  proprietor  of  the 
Theatre  Royal  in  that  city,  had  been  led,  by  the  wretched  state  in  those 
days  of  the  means  of  intercommunication  between  Bath  and  London, 
and  his  own  consequent  difficulties  in  arranging  for  a  punctual  succes- 
sion of  good  actors  at  his  theatre,  to  turn  his  attention  to  the  improve- 
ment of  the  whole  system  of  Post-Office  conveyance,  and  of  locomotive 
machinery  generally,  in  the  British  Islands.  The  result  was  a  scheme 
for  superseding,  on  the  great  roads  at  least,  the  then  existing  system  of 
sluggish  and  irregular  stage-coaches,  the  property  of  private  persons 
and  companies,  by  a  new  system  of  government  coaches,  in  connexion 
with  the  Post-Office,  carrying  the  mails  and  also  a  regulated  number 

i°3 


104  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCEY 

of  passengers,  with  clockwork  precision,  at  a  rate  of  comparative  speed, 
which  he  hoped  should  ultimately  be  not  less  than  ten  miles  an  hour. 
The  opposition  to  the  scheme  was,  of  course,  enormous  ;  coach  pro- 
prietors, innkeepers,  the  Post-Office  officials  themselves,  were  all  against 
Mr.  Palmer;  he  was  voted  a  crazy  enthusiast  and  a  public  bore.  Pitt, 
however,  when  the  scheme  was  submitted  to  him,  recognized  its  feasi- 
bility ;  on  the  8th  of  August  1784  the  first  mail-coach  on  Mr.  Palmer's 
plan  started  from  London  at  S  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  reached 
Bristol  at  11  o'clock  at  night;  and  from  that  day  the  success  of  the 
new  system  was  assured.  —  Mr.  Palmer  himself,  having  been  appointed 
Surveyor  and  Comptroller-General  of  the  Post-Office,  took  rank  as  an 
eminent  and  wealthy  public  man,  M.  P.  for  Bath  and  what  not,  and 
lived  till  1818.  De  Quincey  makes  it  one  of  his  distinctions  that  he 
'had  married  the  daughter  of  a  duke,'  and  in  a  footnote  to  that  para- 
graph he  gives  the  lady's  name  as  '  Lady  Madeline  Gordon.'  From  an 
old  Debrett,  however,  I  learn  that  Lady  Madelina  Gordon,  second 
daughter  of  Alexander,  fourth  Duke  of  Gordon,  was  first  married,  on 
the  3d  of  April  17S9,  to  Sir  Robert  Sinclair,  Bart.,  and  next,  on  the 
25th  of  November  1805,  to  Charles  Palmer,  of  Lockley  Park,  Berks,  Esq. 
If  Debrett  is  right,  her  second  husband  was  not  John  Palmer  of  Mail- 
Coach  celebrity,  and  De  Quincey  is  wrong."  —  Masson. 

1  (footnote)  Invention  of  the  cross  :  Concerning  the  Inventio  sanctae 
crucis,  see  Smith,  Dictionary  of  Christian  Antiquities,  Vol.  I,  p.  503. 

2  4  National  result :  Cf.  De  Quincey's  paper  on  Travelling,  Works, 
Riverside  ed.,  Vol.  II,  especially  pp.  313-314  ;  Masson's  ed.,  Vol.  I,  espe- 
cially pp.  270-271. 

3  13  The  four  terms  of  Michaelmas,  Lent,  Easter,  and  Act :  These 
might  be  called  respectively  the  autumn,  winter,  spring,  and  summer 
terms.  Michaelmas,  the  feast  of  St.  Michael  and  All  Angels,  is  on 
September  29.  Hilary  and  Trinity  are  other  names  for  Lent  term  and 
Act  term  respectively.  Act  term  is  the  last  term  of  the  academic  year ; 
its  name  is  that  originally  given  to  a  disputation  for  a  Master's  degree  ; 
such  disputations  took  place  at  the  end  of  the  year  generally,  and  hence 
gave  a  name  to  the  summer  term.  Although  the  rules  concerning  resi- 
dence at  Oxford  are  more  stringent  than  in  De  Quincey's  time,  only 
eighteen  weeks' residence  is  required  during  the  year,  six  in  Michaelmas, 
six  in  Lent,  and  six  in  Easter  and  Act. 

3  17  Going  down:  Cf.  "Going  down  with  victory,"  i.e.  from  London 
into  the  country. 

3  :i(i  Posting-houses  :  inns  where  relays  of  horses  were  furnished 
for  coaches  and  carriages.    Cf.  De  Quincey  on  Travelling,  loc.  cit. 


NOTES  105 

4  3  An  old  tradition  .  .  .  from  the  reign  of  Charles  II :  Then  no  one 
sat  outside ;  later,  outside  places  were  taken  by  servants,  and  were 
quite  cheap. 

4  9  Attaint  the  foot :  The  word  is  used  in  its  legal  sense.  The  blood 
of  one  convicted  of  high  treason  is  "  attaint,"  and  his  deprivations 
extend  to  his  descendants,  unless  Parliament  remove  the  attainder. 

4  14  Pariahs  :  The  fate  of  social  outcasts  seems  to  have  taken  early 
and  strong  hold  upon  De  Quincey's  mind ;  one  of  the  Suspiria  was  to 
have  enlarged  upon  this  theme.  Strictly  speaking,  the  Pariahs  is  that 
one  of  the  lower  castes  of  Hindoo  society  of  which  foreigners  have  seen 
most ;  it  is  not  in  all  districts  the  lowest  caste,  however. 

5  6  Objects  not  appearing,  etc.  :  De  non  apparentibus  et  uon  existen- 
tibus  eadem  est  lex,  a  Roman  legal  phrase. 

5  16  "Snobs":  Apparently  snob  originally  meant  "shoemaker"; 
then,  in  university  cant,  a  "  townsman  "  as  opposed  to  a  "gownsman." 
Cf.  Gradus  ad  Cantabrigiam  (1824),  quoted  in  Century  Dictionary: 
"  Snobs.  —  A  term  applied  indiscriminately  to  all  who  have  not  the 
honour  of  being  members  of  the  university  ;  but  in  a  more  particular 
manner  to  the  '  profanum  vulgus,'  the  tag-rag  and  bob-tail,  who  vegetate 
on  the  sedgy  banks  of  Camus."  This  use  is  in  De  Quincey's  mind- 
Later,  in  the  strikes  of  that  time,  the  workmen  who  accepted  lower 
wages  were  called  snobs  ;  those  who  held  out  for  higher,  nobs. 

7  33  Fo  Fo  .  .  .  Fi  Fi :  "  This  paragraph  is  a  caricature  of  a  story 
told  in  Staunton's  Account  of  the  Earl  of  Macartney's  Embassy  to 
China  in  1792." — •  Masson. 

8  4  Ca  ira  ("This  will  do,"  "This  is  the  go  "):  "a  proverb  of  the 
French  Revolutionists  when  they  were  hanging  the  aristocrats  in  the 
streets,  &c,  and  the  burden  of  one  of  the  most  popular  revolutionary 
songs,  '  Ca  ira,  ca  ira,  ca  ira.'  "  —  Masson. 

8  18  All  morality,  —  Aristotle's,  Zeno's,  Cicero's  :  Each  of  these 
three  has  a  high  place  in  the  history  of  ethical  teaching.  Aristotle 
wrote  the  so-called  Nicomachean  Ethics.  According  to  his  teaching, 
"  ethical  virtue  is  that  permanent  direction  of  the  will  which  guards 
the  mean  \rb  /xiaov]  proper  for  us.  .  .  .  Bravery  is  the  mean  between 
cowardice  and  temerity ;  temperance,  the  mean  between  inordinate 
desire  and  stupid  indifference ;  etc."  (Ueberweg,  History  of  Philos- 
ophy, Vol.  I,  p.  169).  Zeno,  who  died  about  264  B.C.,  founded  about 
308  the  Stoic  sect,  which  took  its  name  from  the  "  Painted  Porch  " 
(Ztool  TloiidXr))  in  the  Agora  at  Athens,  where  the  master  taught.  The 
Stoics  held  that  men  should  be  free  from  passion,  and  undisturbed  by 
joy  or  grief,  submitting  themselves  uncomplainingly  to  their  fate.    Such 


106  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

austere  views  are,  of  course,  as  far  as  possible  removed  from  those  of 
the  Euda;monist,  who  sought  happiness  as  the  end  of  life.  Cicero  was 
the  author  of  De  Officiis,  "  Of  Duties." 

9  9  Astrological  shadows :  misfortunes  due  to  being  born  under  an 
unlucky  star;  house  of  life  is  also  an  astrological  term. 

9  24  Von  Troil's  Iceland :  The  Letters  on  Iceland  (Pinkerton's  Voy- 
ages and  Travels,  Vol.  I,  p.  621),  containing  Observations  .  .  .  made  dur- 
ing a  Voyage  undertaken  in  the  year  1772,  by  Uno  Von  Troil,  D.D., 
of  Stockholm,  contains  no  chapter  of  the  kind.  Such  a  chapter  had 
appeared,  however,  in  N.  Horrebow's  (Danish,  1758)  Natural  History  of 
Iceland:  "Chap.  LXXII.  Concerning  snakes.  No  snakes  of  any  kind 
are  to  be  met  with  throughout  the  whole  island."  In  Boswell's_/<:>//M.f0//, 
Vol.  IV,  p.  314,  Temple  ed.,  there  is  a  much  more  correct  allusion, 
which  may  have  been  in  De  Quincey's  mind :  "  Langton  said  very  well 
to  me  afterwards,  that  he  could  repeat  Johnson's  conversation  before 
dinner,  as  Johnson  had  said  that  he  could  repeat  a  complete  chapter 
of  The  Natural  History  of  Iceland,  from  the  Danish  of  Horrebow,  the 
whole  of  which  was  exactly  thus:  'Chap.  LXXII.  Concerning  Snakes. 
There  are  no  snakes  to  be  met  with  throughout  the  whole  island.'  " 

9  25  A  parliamentary  rat :  one  who  deserts  his  own  party  when  it 
is  losing. 

10  10  "Jam  proximus,"  etc. :  ALneid,  II, lines  311-312  :  "  Xow  next 
(to  Deiphobus'  house)  Ucalegon  (i.e.  his  house)  blazes  ! " 

11  27   Quarterings :    See  p.  47,  footnote,  and  note  47  2. 

11  32  Within  benefit  of  clergy  :  Benefit  of  clergy  was,  under  old  Eng- 
lish law,  the  right  of  clerics,  afterward  extended  to  all  who  could  read, 
to  plead  exemption  from  trial  before  a  secular  judge.  This  privilege 
was  first  legally  recognized  in  1274,  and  was  not  wholly  abolished 
until   1827. 

12  'j  Quarter  Sessions  :  This  court  is  held  in  England  in  the  coun- 
ties by  justices  of  the  peace  for  the  trial  of  minor  criminal  offenses  and 
to  administer  the  poor  laws,  etc. 

12  20  False  echoes  of  Marengo:  General  Desaix  was  shot  through 
the  heart  at  the  battle  of  Marengo  (June  14,  1800);  he  died  without  a 
word,  and  his  body  was  found  by  Kovigo  (of.  Memoirs  of  the  Duke  of 
A'ovigo,  London,  1835,  Vol.  I,  p.  181),  "stripped  of  his  clothes,  and 
surrounded  by  other  naked  bodies."  Napoleon,  however,  published 
three  different  versions  of  an  heroic  and  devoted  message  from  Desaix 
to  himself,  the  original  version  being:  "Go,  tell  the  First  Consul  that 
I  die  with  this  regret,  —  that  I  have  not  done  enough  for  posterity." 
(Cf.    Lanfrey,    History  of  Napoleon   the   First,    2d   ed.,    London,    18S6, 


NOTES  107 

Vol.  IT,  p.  39.)  Napoleon  himself  was  credited  likewise  with  the  words 
De  Quincey  adopts.  "  Why  is  it  not  permitted  me  to  weep  "  is  one 
version  (Bussey,  History  of  Napoleon,  London,  1840,  Vol.  I,  p.  302). 
Cf.  Hazlitt,  Life  of  Napoleon,  2d  ed.,  London,  1852,  Vol.  II,  p.  317, 
footnote. 

12  (footnote)  The  cry  of  the  foundering  line-of-battle  ship  "  Vengeur  ": 
On  the  1st  of  June,  1794,  the  English  fleet  under  Lord  Howe  defeated 
the  French  under  Villaret-Joyeuse,  taking  six  ships  and  sinking  a  sev- 
enth, the  Vengeur.  This  ship  sank,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  with  part  of  her 
crew  on  board,  imploring  aid  which  there  was  not  time  to  give  them. 
Some  two  hundred  and  fifty  men  had  been  taken  off  by  the  English  ; 
the  rest  were  lost.  On  the  9th  of  July  Barrere  published  a  report  set- 
ting forth  "  how  the  Vengeur,  .  .  .  being  entirely  disabled,  .  .  .  refused  to 
strike,  though  sinking;  how  the  enemies  fired  on  her,  but  she  returned 
their  fire,  shot  aloft  all  her  tricolor  streamers,  shouted  Vive  la  Republique, 
.  .  .  and  so,  in  this  mad  whirlwind  of  fire  and  shouting  and  invincible 
despair,  went  down  into  the  ocean  depths ;  Vive  la  Republique  and  a 
universal  volley  from  the  upper  deck  being  the  last  sounds  she  made." 
Cf.  Carlyle,  Sinking  of  the  Vengeur,  and  French  Revolution,  Book  XVIII, 
Chap.  VI. 

12  (footnote)  La  Garde  meurt,  etc. :  "  This  phrase,  attributed  to  Cam- 
bronne,  who  was  made  prisoner  at  Waterloo,  was  vehemently  denied  by 
him.  It  was  invented  by  Rougemont,  a  prolific  author  of  mots,  two 
days  after  the  battle,  in  the  Indipendant."  —  Fournier's  U  Esprit  dans 
VHistoire,  trans.  Bartlett,  Familiar  Quotations,  p.  661. 

13  25  Brummagem:  Birmingham  became  early  the  chief  place  of 
manufacture  of  cheap  wares.  Hence  the  name  Brummagem,  a  vulgar 
pronunciation  of  the  name  of  the  city,  has  become  in  England  a  com- 
mon name  for  cheap,  tawdry  jewelry.  Cf.  also  Shakespeare,  Richard  III, 
Act  I,  sc.  iv,  1.  55  : 

False,  fleeting,  perjured  Clarence. 

13  27  Luxor  occupies  part  of  the  site  of  ancient  Thebes,  capital  of 
Egypt;   its  antiquities  are  famous. 

14  9  But  on  our  side  .  .  .  was  a  tower  of  moral  strength,  etc. :  Cf. 
Shakespeare,  Richard  III,  Act  V,  sc.  iii,  11.  12-13: 

Besides,  the  king's  name  is  a  tower  of  strength, 
Which  they  upon  the  adverse  party  want. 

14  20   Felt  my  heart  burn  within  me  :   Cf.  Luke  xxiv.  32. 
14  32   A  very  fine  story  from  one  of  our  elder  dramatists  :  The  dram- 
atist in  question  has  not  been  identified.    I  am  indebted  indirectly  to 


108  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE  Y 

Professor  W.  Strunk,  Jr.,  of  Cornell  University,  for  reference  to  Johann 
Caius'  Of  English  Dogs,  translated  by  A.  Fleming,  in  Arber's  English 
Gamer,  original  edition,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  253  (new  edition,  Social  Eng- 
land Illustrated,  pp.  28-29),  where,  after  telling  how  Henry  the  Seventh, 
perceiving  that  four  mastiffs  could  overcome  a  lion,  ordered  the  dogs 
all  hanged,  the  writer  continues :  "  I  read  an  history  answerable  to  this, 
of  the  selfsame  Henry,  who  having  a  notable  and  an  excellent  fair  falcon, 
it  fortuned  that  the  King's  Falconers,  in  the  presence  and  hearing  of  his 
Grace,  highly  commended  his  Majesty's  Falcon,  saying,  that  it  feared 
not  to  intermeddle  with  an  eagle,  it  was  so  venturous  and  so  mighty  a 
bird ;  which  when  the  king  heard,  he  charged  that  the  falcon  should  be 
killed  without  delay:  for  the  selfsame  reason,  as  it  may  seem,  which 
was  rehearsed  in  the  conclusion  of  the  former  history  concerning  the 
same  king." 

15  l  Omrahs  .  .  .  from  Agra  and  Lahore :  There  seems  to  be  a  remi- 
niscence here  of  Wordsworth's  Prelude,  Book  X,  11.  18-20: 

The  Great  Mogul,  when  he 
Erewhile  went  forth  from  Agra  or  Lahore, 
Rajahs  and  Omrahs  in  his  train. 

Omrah,  which  is  not  found  in  Century  Dictionary,  is  itself  really  plural 
of  Arabic  amir  (ameer),  a  commander,  nobleman. 

15  23  The  6th  of  Edward  Longshanks :  a  De  Quinceyan  jest,  of 
course.  This  would  refer  to  a  law  of  the  sixth  year  of  Fdward  I,  or 
1278,  but  there  are  but  fifteen  chapters  in  the  laws  of  that  year. 

16  8  Not  magna  loquimur,  .  .  .  but  vivimus :  not  "we  speak  great 
things,"  but  "  we  live  "  them. 

17  21  Marlborough  forest  is  twenty-seven  miles  east  of  Bath,  where 
De  Quincey  attended  school. 

18  18  Ulysses,  etc.:  The  allusion  is,  of  course,  to  the  slaughter  of 
the  suitors  of  Penelope,  his  wife,  by  Ulysses,  after  his  return.  Cf.  Odys- 
sey, Books  XXI-XXII. 

19  .")  About  Waterloo:  i.e.  about  181 5.  This  phrase  is  one  of  many 
that  indicate  the  deep  impression  made  by  this  event  upon  the  English 
mind.    Cf.  p.  58. 

19  17  "  Say,  all  our  praises,"  etc. :  Cf.  Pope,  Moral  Essays:  Epistle 
III,  Of  the  Use  of  Riches,  11.  249-250: 

But  all  our  praises  why  should  lords  engross, 
Rise,  honest  Muse!  and  sing  the  Man  of  Ross. 

20  :t  Turrets :  "  Tourettes  fyled  rounde "  appears  in  Chaucer's 
Knight's   Tale,  1.   1294,    where   it    means    the   ring  on  a  dog's   collar 


NOTES  109 

through  which  the  leash  was  passed.  Skeat  explains  torets  as  "  prob- 
ably eyes  in  which  rings  will  turn  round,  because  each  eye  is  a  little 
larger  than  the  thickness  of  the  ring."  Cf.  Chaucer's  Treatise  on  the 
Astrolabe,  Part  I,  sec.  2,  "  This  ring  renneth  in  a  maner  turet,"  "  this 
ring  runs  in  a  kind  of  eye."    But  Chaucer  does  not  refer  to  harness. 

21  2  Mr.  Waterton  tells  me :  Charles  Waterton,  the  naturalist,  was 
born  in  1782  and  died  in  1865.  His  tVaiideri/igs  in  South  America  was 
published  in  1825. 

23  11  Earth  and  her  children:  This  paragraph  is  about  one  fifth  of 
the  length  of  the  corresponding  paragraph  as  it  appeared  in  Blackwood. 
For  the  longer  version  see  Masson's  ed.,  Vol.  XIII,  p.  2S9,  note  2. 

24  14  The  General  Post-Office :  The  present  office  was  opened  Sept. 
23,  1829.  St.  Martin's-le-Grand  is  a  church  within  the  "city"  of  Lon- 
don, so  named  to  distinguish  it  from  St.  Martin's-in-the-Fields,  which 
faces  what  is  now  Trafalgar  Square,  and  is,  as  the  name  indicates,  out- 
side the  "  city."    The  street  takes  its  name  from  the  church. 

28  10    Barnet  is  a  Hertfordshire  village,  eleven  miles  north  of  London. 

29  33  A  "Courier"  evening  paper,  containing  the  gazette:  A  gazette 
was  originally  one  of  the  three  official  papers  of  the  kingdom ;  afterwards 
any  official  announcement,  as  this  of  a  great  victory. 

30  17  Fey :  This  is  not  a  Celtic  word  ;  it  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  fiege 
retained  in  Lowland  Scotch,  which  is  the  most  northerly  English  dialect. 
The  word  appears  frequently  in  descriptions  of  battles,  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  fatalistic  philosophy  teaching  that  certain  warriors  entered  the 
conflict  fUge,  "doomed."  Now  the  meaning  is  altered  slightly:  "You 
are  surely  fey,"  would  be  said  in  Scotland,  as  Professor  Masson  remarks, 
to  a  person  observed  to  be  in  extravagantly  high  spirits,  or  in  any  mood 
surprisingly  beyond  the  bounds  of  his  ordinary  temperament,  —  the 
notion  being  that  the  excitement  is  supernatural,  and  a  presage  of  his 
approaching  death,  or  of  some  other  calamity  about  to  befall  him. 

31  27  The  inspiration  of  God,  etc.:  This  is  an  indication  —  more 
interesting  than  agreeable,  perhaps  —  of  the  heights  to  which  the  martial 
ardor  of  De  Quincey's  toryism  rises. 

33  13  Caesar  the  Dictator,  at  his  last  dinner-party,  etc.:  related  by  Sue- 
tonius in  his  life  of  Julius  Caesar,  Chap.  LXXXVII:  "The  day  before 
he  died,  some  discourse  occurring  at  dinner  in  M.  Lepidus'  house  upon 
that  subject,  which  was  the  most  agreeable  way  of  dying,  he  expressed 
his  preference  for  what  is  sudden  and  unexpected  "  {repentinum  inopina- 
tumque praetulerat).    The  story  is  told  by  Plutarch  and  Appian  also. 

35  13  Bia.0ava.TOs  :  "De  Quincey  has  evidently  taken  this  from  John 
Donne's  treatise:    BIA9ANAT02,  A  Declaration  0/  that  Paradoxe  or 


no  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE Y 

Thesis,  That  Self-homicide  is  not  so  naturally  Sin,  that  it  may  never  be 
otherwise,  1644.  See  his  paper  on  Suicide,  etc.,  Masson's  ed.,  VIII,  398 
[Riverside,  IX,  209].  But  not  even  Donne's  precedent  justifies  the  word 
formation.  The  only  acknowledged  compounds  are  piato-davaaia, '  violent 
death,'  and  Picuo-ddvaros,  '  dying  a  violent  death.'  Even  fily.  ddvaros, 
'  death  by  violence,'  is  not  classical."  —  Hart.  But  the  form  fiiaddvaros 
is  older  than  Donne  and  is  said  to  be  common  in  MSS.  It  should  be 
further  remarked  that  neither  of  the  two  compounds  cited  is  classical. 
As  to  De  Quincey's  interpretation  of  Caesar's  meaning  here,  cf.  Meri- 
vale's  History  of  the  Romans  under  the  Empire,  Chap.  XXI,  where 
he  translates  Caesar's  famous  reply:  "That  which  is  least  expected." 
Cf.  also  Shakespeare,  Julius  Casar,  Act  II,  sc.  ii,  1.  33. 

37  25  "Nature,  from  her  seat,"  etc.:  Cf.  Milton's  Paradise  Lost, 
Book  IX,  11.  780-784  : 

So  saying,  her  rash  hand  in  evil  hour 
Forth  reaching  to  the  fruit,  she  pluck'd,  she  eat : 
Earth  felt  the  wound,  and  Nature  from  her  seat 
Sighing  through  all  her  works  gave  signs  of  woe, 
That  all  was  lost. 

38  2  So  scenical,  etc.  :  De  Quincey's  love  for  effects  of  this  sort 
appears  everywhere.  Cf.  the  opening  paragraphs  of  the  Revolt  of  the 
Tartars,  Masson's  ed.,  Vol.  VII ;   Riverside  ed.,  Vol.  XII. 

39  \   Jus  dominii :  "  the  law  of  ownership,"  a  legal  term. 

39  14   Jus  gentium  :   "  the  law  of  nations,"  a  legal  term. 

39:30  "  Monstrum  horrendum,"  etc. :  &neid,  III,  658.  Polyphemus, 
one  of  the  Cyclopes,  whose  eye  was  put  out  by  Ulysses,  is  meant.  Cf. 
Odyssey,  IX,  371  et  sea. ;  sEneid,  III,  630  et  sec/. 

40  l  One  of  the  Calendars,  etc.  :  The  histories  of  the  three  Calenders, 
sons  of  kings,  will  be  found  in  most  selections  from  the  Arabian  Nights. 
A  Calender  is  one  of  an  order  of  Dervishes  founded  in  the  fourteenth 
century  by  an  Andalusian  Arab;  they  are  wanderers  who  preach  in 
market  places  and  live  by  alms. 

40  10  Al  Sirat :  According  to  Mahometan  teaching  this  bridge  over 
Hades  was  in  width  as  a  sword's  edge.  Over  it  souls  must  pass  to 
Paradise. 

40  12  Under  this  eminent  man,  etc. :  For  these  two  sentences  the 
original  in  Blackwood  had  this,  with  its  addition  of  good  De  Quinceyan 
doctrine  :  "  I  used  to  call  him  Cyclops  Afastii,rophorus,  Cyclops  the  Whip- 
bearer,  until  I  observed  that  his  skill  made  whips  useless,  except  to 
fetch  off  an  impertinent  fly  from  a  leader's  head,  upon  which  I  changed 
his  Grecian  name  to  Cyclops  Diphrelates  (Cyclops  the  Charioteer).    I, 


NOTES  in 

and  others  known  to  me,  studied  under  him  the  diphrelatic  art.  Excuse, 
reader,  a  word  too  elegant  to  be  pedantic.  And  also  take  this  remark 
from  me  as  a  gage  d'amitie — that  no  word  ever  was  or  can  be  pedantic 
which,  by  supporting  a  distinction,  supports  the  accuracy  of  logic,  or 
which  fills  up  a  chasm  for  the  understanding." 

41  l  Some  people  have  called  me  procrastinating :  Cf.  Page's  (Japp's) 
Life,  Chap.  XIX,  and  Japp's  De  Quincey  Memorials,  Vol.  II,  pp.  45,  47,  49. 

42  11  The  whole  Pagan  Pantheon:  i.e.  all  the  gods  put  together; 
from  the  Greek  lldvdewv,  a  temple  dedicated  to  all  the  gods. 

43  2  Seven  atmospheres  of  sleep,  etc. :  Professor  Hart  suggests  that 
De  Quincey  is  here  "indulging  in  jocular  arithmetic.  The  three  nights 
plus  the  three  days,  plus  the  present  night,  equal  seven."  Dr.  Cooper 
compares  with  this  a  reference  to  the  Seven  Sleepers  of  Ephesus.  But 
it  seems  doubtful  whether  any  explanation  is  necessary. 

43  17  Lilliputian  Lancaster  :  the  county  town  of  Lancashire,  in  which 
Liverpool  and  Manchester,  towns  of  recent  and  far  greater  growth,  are 
situated. 

44  (footnote)  "  Giraldus  Cambrensis,"  or  Gerald  de  Barry  (n 46-1 220), 
was  a  Welsh  historian  ;  one  of  his  chief  works  is  the  Itinerarium  Cambrice, 
or  Voyage  in  Wales. 

47  2  Quartering :  De  Quincey 's  derivation  of  this  word  in  his  foot- 
note is  correct,  but  its  use  in  this  French  sense  is  not  common. 
De  Quincey,  however,  has  it  above,  p.  11. 

49  8   The  shout  of  Achilles  :   Cf.  Homer,  Iliad,  XVIII,  217  et  sea. 

50  10  Buying  it,  etc. :  De  Quincey  refers,  no  doubt,  to  the  pay  of 
common  soldiers  and  to  the  practice  of  employing  mercenaries. 

52  1  Faster  than  ever  mill-race,  etc. :  the  change  in  the  wording  of 
this  sentence  in  De  Quincey's  revision  is,  as  Masson  remarks,  particu- 
larly characteristic  of  his  sense  of  melody ;  it  read  in  Blackwood,  "  We 
ran  past  them  faster  than  ever  mill-race  in  our  inexorable  flight." 

52  15  Here  was  the  map,  etc. :  This  sentence  is  an  addition  in  the 
reprint.  Masson  remarks  "  how  artistically  it  causes  the  due  pause 
between  the  horror  as  still  in  rush  of  transaction  and  the  backward 
look  at  the  wreck  when  the  crash  was  past." 

53  18    "  Whence  the  sound,"  etc. :  Paradise  Lost,  Book  XI,  11.  558-563. 

54  3  Woman's  Ionic  form  :  In  thus  using  the  word  Ionic,  De  Quincey 
doubtless  has  in  mind  the  character  of  Ionic  architecture,  with  its  tall 
and  graceful  column,  differing  from  the  severity  of  the  Doric  on  the 
one  hand  and  from  the  floridity  of  the  Corinthian  on  the  other.  Prob- 
ably he  is  thinking  of  a  caryatid.  Cf.  the  following  version  of  the  old 
story  of  the  origin  of  the  styles  of  Greek  architecture  in  Vitruvius,  IV, 


112  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE   QUINCE  Y 

Chap.  I  (Gwilt's  translation),  quoted  by  Hart :  "  They  measured  a  man's 
foot,  and  finding  its  length  the  sixth  part  of  his  height,  they  gave  the 
column  a  similar  proportion,  that  is,  they  made  its  height  six  times  the 
thickness  of  the  shaft  measured  at  the  base.  Thus  the  Doric  order 
obtained  its  proportion,  its  strength,  and  its  beauty  from  the  human 
figure.  With  a  similar  feeling  they  afterward  built  the  Temple  of  Diana. 
But  in  that,  seeking  a  new  proportion,  they  used  the  female  figure  as  a 
standard  ;  and  for  the  purpose  of  producing  a  more  lofty  effect  they 
first  made  it  eight  times  its  thickness  in  height.  Under  it  they  placed 
a  base,  after  the  manner  of  a  shoe  to  the  foot ;  they  also  added  volutes 
to  its  capita],  like  graceful  curling  hair  hanging  on  each  side,  and  the 
front  they  ornamented  with  cymatia  and  festoons  in  the  place  of  hair. 
On  the  shafts  they  sunk  channels,  which  bear  a  resemblance  to  the  folds 
of  a  matronal  garment.  Thus  two  orders  were  invented,  one  of  a  mas- 
culine character,  without  ornament,  the  other  bearing  a  character  which 
resembled  the  delicacy,  ornament,  and  proportion  of  a  female.  The 
successors  of  these  people,  improving  in  taste,  and  preferring  a  more 
slender  proportion,  assigned  seven  diameters  to  the  height  of  the  Doric 
column,  and  eight  and  a  half  to  the  Ionic." 

55  3   Corymbi :  clusters  of  fruit  or  flowers. 

55  28  Quarrel :  the  bolt  of  a  crossbow,  an  arrow  having  a  square, 
or  four-edged  head  (from  Middle  Latin  quadrellus,  diminutive  of  quaJ- 
rum,  a  square). 

58  20    Waterloo  and  Recovered  Christendom!    Cf.  note  19  3. 

61  20  Then  a  third  time  the  trumpet  sounded :  There  are  throughout 
this  passage,  as  Dr.  Cooper  remarks,  many  reminiscences  of  the  language 
of  the  Book  of  Revelation.  Cf.  this  with  Revelation  viii.  io;  cf.  61  28 
with  Revelation  xii.  5,  and  62  5  with  ix.  13. 

63  29  The  endless  resurrections  of  His  love  :  The  following,  which 
Masson  prints  as  a  postscript,  was  a  part  of  Do  Quincey's  introduction 
to  the  volume  of  the  Collective  Edition  containing  this  piece: 

"'The  English  M ail-Coach.'—  This  little  paper,  according  to  my  origi- 
nal intention,  formed  part  of  the  '  Suspiria  de  Profundi* ' ;  from  which,  for  a 
momentary  purpose,  I  did  not  scruple  to  detach  it,  and  to  publish  it  apart,  as 
sufficiently  intelligible  even  when  dislocated  from  its  place  in  a  larger  whole. 
To  my  surprise,  however,  one  or  two  critics,  not  carelessly  in  conversation,  but 
deliberately  in  print,  professed  their  inability  to  apprehend  the  meaning  of  the 
whole,  or  to  follow  the  links  of  the  connexion  between  its  several  parts.  I  am 
myself  as  little  able  to  understand  where  the  difficulty  lies,  or  to  detect  any 
lurking  obscurity,  as  these  critics  found  themselves  to  unravel  my  logic.  Possi- 
bly I  may  not  be  an  indifferent  and  neutral  judge  in  such  a  case.    I  will  therefore 


NOTES  113 

sketch  a  brief  abstract  of  the  little  paper  according  to  my  original  design,  and 
then  leave  the  reader  to  judge  how  far  this  design  is  kept  in  sight  through  the 
actual  execution. 

"  Thirty-seven  years  ago,  or  rather  more,  accident  made  me,  in  the  dead  of 
night,  and  of  a  night  memorably  solemn,  the  solitary  witness  of  an  appalling 
scene,  which  threatened  instant  death  in  a  shape  the  most  terrific  to  two  young 
people  whom  I  had  no  means  of  assisting,  except  in  so  far  as  1  was  able  to  give 
them  a  most  hurried  warning  of  their  danger;  but  even  that  not  until  they 
stood  within  the  very  shadow  of  the  catastrophe,  being  divided  from  the  most 
frightful  of  deaths  by  scarcely  more,  if  more  at  all,  than  seventy  seconds. 

"  Such  was  the  scene,  such  in  its  outline,  from  which  the  whole  of  this  paper 
radiates  as  a  natural  expansion.  This  scene  is  circumstantially  narrated  in 
Section  the  Second,  entitled  '  The  Vision  of  Sudden  Death.' 

"  But  a  movement  of  horror,  and  of  spontaneous  recoil  from  this  dreadful 
scene,  naturally  carried  the  whole  of  that  scene,  raised  and  idealised,  into  my 
dreams,  and  very  soon  into  a  rolling  succession  of  dreams.  The  actual  scene, 
as  looked  down  upon  from  the  box  of  the  mail,  was  transformed  into  a  dream,  as 
tumultuous  and  changing  as  a  musical  fugue.  This  troubled  dream  is  circum- 
stantially reported  in  Section  the  Third,  entitled  '  Dream-Fugue  on  the  theme 
of  Sudden  Death.'  What  I  had  beheld  from  my  seat  upon  the  mail,  —  the 
scenical  strife  of  action  and  passion,  of  anguish  and  fear,  as  I  had  there  witnessed 
them  moving  in  ghostly  silence,  —  this  duel  between  life  and  death  narrowing 
itself  to  a  point  of  such  exquisite  evanescence  as  the  collision  neared :  all  these 
elements  of  the  scene  blended,  under  the  law  of  association,  with  the  pre- 
vious and  permanent  features  of  distinction  investing  the  mail  itself ;  which 
features  at  that  time  lay — 1st,  in  velocity  unprecedented,  2dly,  in  the  power 
and  beauty  of  the  horses,  3dly,  in  the  official  connexion  with  the  government  of  a 
great  nation,  and,  4thly,  in  the  function,  almost  a  consecrated  function,  of  pub- 
lishing and  diffusing  through  the  land  the  great  political  events,  and  especially 
the  great  battles,  during  a  conflict  of  unparalleled  grandeur.  These  honorary 
distinctions  are  all  described  circumstantially  in  the  First  or  introductory 
Section  ('  The  Glory  of  Motion  ').  The  three  first  were  distinctions  maintained 
at  all  times ;  but  the  fourth  and  grandest  belonged  exclusively  to  the  war  with 
Napoleon ;  and  this  it  was  which  most  naturally  introduced  Waterloo  into  the 
dream.  Waterloo,  I  understand,  was  the  particular  feature  of  the  '  Dream- 
Fugue  '  which  my  censors  were  least  able  to  account  for.  Yet  surely  Waterloo, 
which,  in  common  with  every  other  great  battle,  it  had  been  our  special  privilege 
to  publish  over  all  the  land,  most  naturally  entered  the  dream  under  the  licence 
of  our  privilege.  If  not  —  if  there  be  anything  amiss  —  let  the  Dream  be  respon- 
sible. The  Dream  is  a  law  to  itself;  and  as  well  quarrel  with  a  rainbow  for 
showing,  or  for  not  showing,  a  secondary  arch.  So  far  as  I  know,  every  element 
in  the  shifting  movements  of  the  Dream  derived  itself  either  primarily  from 
the  incidents  of  the  actual  scene,  or  from  secondary  features  associated  with  the 
mail.  For  example,  the  cathedral  aisle  derived  itself  from  the  mimic  combina- 
tion of  features  which  grouped  themselves  together  at  the  point  of  approaching 


114  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE  Y 

collision  —  viz.  an  arrow-like  section  of  the  road,  six  hundred  yards  long,  under 
the  solemn  lights  described,  with  lofty  trees  meeting  overhead  in  arches.  The 
guard's  horn,  again  —  a  humble  instrument  in  itself  —  was  yet  glorified  as  the 
organ  of  publication  for  so  many  great  national  events.  And  the  incident  of 
the  Dying  Trumpeter,  who  rises  from  a  marble  bas-relief,  and  carries  a  marble 
trumpet  to  his  marble  lips  for  the  purpose  of  warning  the  female  infant,  was 
doubtless  secretly  suggested  by  my  own  imperfect  effort  to  seize  the  guard's 
horn,  and  to  blow  the  warning  blast.  Hut  the  Dream  knows  best;  and  the 
Dream,  I  say  again,  is  the  responsible  party."' 


JOAN   OF   ARC 

This  article  appeared  originally  in  Taifs  Magazine  for  March  and 
August,  1847  ;  it  was  reprinted  by  De  Quincey  in  1S54  in  the  third 
volume  of  his  Collected  Writings.  It  is  found  in  Works,  Masson's  ed., 
Vol.  V,  pp.  384-416;  Riverside  ed.,  Vol.  VI,  pp.  178-215. 

64  10  Lorraine,  now  in  great  part  in  the  possession  of  Germany, 
is  the  district  in  which  Domremy,  Joan's  birthplace,  is  situated. 

65  14    Vaucouleurs  :  a  town  near  Domremy;  cf.  p.  70. 

65  28  En  contumace  :  "in  contumacy,"  a  legal  term  applied  to  one 
who,  when  summoned  to  court,  fails  to  appear. 

66  13  Rouen  :  the  city  in  Normandy  where  Joan  was  burned  at 
the  stake. 

66  -J5  The  lilies  of  France  :  the  royal  emblem  of  France  from  very 
early  times  until  the  Revolution  of  17S9,  when  "the  wrath  of  God  and 
man  combined  to  wither  them." 

67  5  M.  Michelet:  Jules  Michelet  (17^8-1874)  is  said  to  have  spent 
forty  years  in  the  preparation  of  his  great  work,  the  History  of  France. 
Cf.  the  same,  translated  by  G.  II.  Smith,  2  vols.,  Appleton,  Vol.  II, 
pp.  119-169;  ox  Joan  of  Arc,  from  Michelet's  History  of  France,  trans- 
lated by  O.  W.  Wight,  New  Vork,  1858. 

67  8  Recovered  liberty:  The  Revolution  of  1830  had  expelled  the 
restored  Bourbon   kings. 

67  20  The  book  against  priests  :  Michelet's  lectures  as  professor  of 
history  in  the  College  de  France,  in  which  he  attacked  the  Jesuits, 
were  published  as  follows  :  Des  fesuites,  1843  '■>  &u  Frctre,  Je  la  Femme 
et  de  la  Famille,  1844;  Du  Feufle,  1845.  To  the  second  De  Quincey 
apparently  refers. 

67  26  Back  to  the  falconer's  lure:  The  lure  was  a  decoy  used  to 
recall  the  hawk  to  its  perch,  —  sometimes  a  dead  pigeon,  sometimes  an 
artificial  bird,  with  some  meat  attached. 


NOTES  115 

68  6  On  the  model  of  Lord  Percy:  These  lines,  as  Professor  Hart 
notes,  in  Percy's  Folio,  ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  Vol.  II,  p.  7,  run: 

The  stout  Erie  of  Northumberland 

a  vow  to  God  did  make, 
his  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods 

3  somwers  days  to  take. 

68  27  Pucelle  d'Orleans  :  Maid  of  Orleans  (the  city  on  the  Loire  which 
Joan  saved). 

69  l  The  collection,  etc.  :  The  work  meant  is  Quicherat,  Prods  de 
Condamnation  et  Rehabilitation  de  Jeatuie  d'Arc,  5  vols.,  Paris,  1841- 
1849.    Cf.  De  Quincey's  note. 

69  21  Delenda  est  Anglia  Victrix  !  "  Victorious  England  must  be  de- 
stroyed !  "  Cf.  Delenda  est  Carthago  !  "  Carthage  must  be  destroyed  !  " 
Delenda  est  Karthago  is  the  version  of  Floras  (II,  15)  of  the  words  used 
by  Cato  the  Censor,  just  before  the  Third  Punic  War,  whenever  he  was 
called  upon  to  record  his  vote  in  the  Senate  on  any  subject  under 
discussion. 

69  27  Hyder  Ali  (1 702-1 782),  a  Mahometan  adventurer,  made  himself 
maharajah  of  Mysore  and  gave  the  English  in  India  serious  trouble; 
he  was  defeated  in  1782  by  Sir  Eyre  Coote.  Tippoo  Sahib,  his  son  and 
successor,  proved  less  dangerous  and  was  finally  killed  at  Seringapatam 
in  1799. 

70  4  Nationality  it  was  not:  i.e.  nationalism  —  patriotism — it  was 
not.  Cf.  Revolt  oj  the  Tartars,  Riverside  ed.,  Vol.  XII,  p.  4;  Masson's 
ed.,  Vol.  VII,  p.  370,  where  De  Quincey  speaks  of  the  Torgod  as 
"tribes  whose  native  ferocity  was  exasperated  by  debasing  forms  of 
superstition,  and  by  a  nationality  as  well  as  an  inflated  conceit  of  their 
own  merit  absolutely  unparalleled."     Cf.  also  footnote,  p.  94. 

70  4  Suffren:  the  great  French  admiral  who  in  1780-1781  inflicted 
so  much  loss  upon  the  British. 

70  10  Magnanimous  justice  of  Englishmen :  As  Professor  Hart  ob- 
serves, the  treatment  of  Joan  in  Henry  VI  is  hardly  magnanimous. 

71  29   That  odious  man  :    Cf.  pp.  79-80. 

72  12  Three  great  successive  battles:  Rudolf  of  Lorraine  fell  at 
Crecy  (1346) ;  Frederick  of  Lorraine  at  Agincourt  (141 5)  ;  the  battle  of 
Nicopolis,  which  sacrificed  the  third  Lorrainer,  took  place  in  1396. 

73  24  Charles  VI  (1368-1422)  had  killed  several  men  during  his 
first  fit  of  insanity.  He  was  for  the  rest  of  his  life  wholly  unfit  to 
govern.  He  declared  Henry  V  of  England,  the  conqueror  of  Agin- 
court, his  successor,  thus  disinheriting  the  Dauphin,  his  son. 


u6  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

74  2  The  famines,  etc. :  Horrible  famines  occurred  in  France  and 
England  in  131 5,  1336,  and  1353.  Such  insurrections  as  Wat  Tyler's, 
in  1 38 1,  are  probably  in  De  Quincey's  mind. 

74  G  The  termination  of  the  Crusades  :  The  Crusades  came  to  an  end 
about  1 27 1.  "The  ulterior  results  of  the  crusades,"  concludes  Cox  in 
Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  "  were  the  breaking  up  of  the  feudal  system, 
the  abolition  of  serfdom,  the  supremacy  of  a  common  law  over  the 
independent  jurisdiction  of  chiefs  who  claimed  the  right  of  private  wars." 

74  7  The  destruction  of  the  Templars:  This  most  famous  of  the  mili- 
tary orders,  founded  in  the  twelfth  century  for  the  defense  of  the  Latin 
kingdom  of  Jerusalem,  having  grown  so  powerful  as  to  be  greatly  feared, 
was  suppressed  at  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

74  7  The  Papal  interdicts:  "  Ue  Quincey  has  probably  in  mind 
such  an  interdict  as  that  pronounced  in  1200,  by  Innocent  III,  against 
France.  All  ecclesiastical  functions  were  suspended  and  the  land  was 
in  desolation."  —  Mart.  England  was  put  under  interdict  several  times, 
as  in  1 1 70  (for  the  murder  of  Becket)  and  1208. 

74  8  The  tragedies  caused  or  suffered  by  the  house  of  Anjou,  and  by 
the  Emperor  :  "  The  Emperor  is  Konradin,  the  last  of  the  Hohenstaufen, 
beheaded  by  Charles  of  Anjou  at  Naples,  1268.  The  subsequent  cruel- 
ties of  Charles  in  Sicily  caused  the  popular  uprising  known  as  the 
Sicilian  Vespers,  1282,  in  which  many  thousands  of  Frenchmen  were 
assassinated."  —  Hart. 

74  10  The  colossal  figure  of  feudalism,  etc.  :  The  English  yeomen  at 
Crecy,  overpowering  the  mounted  knights  of  France,  took  from  feudal- 
ism its  chief  support,  —  the  superiority  of  the  mounted  knight  to  the 
unmounted  yeoman.  Cf.  Green,  History  of  the  English  People,  Book  IV, 
Chap.  II. 

74  la  The  abominable  spectacle  of  a  double  Pope:  For  thirty-eight 
years  this  paradoxical  state  of  things  endured. 

75  15  The  Roman  martyrology  :  a  list  of  the  martyrs  of  the  Church, 
arranged  according  to  the  order  of  their  festivals,  and  with  accounts  of 
their  lives  and  sufferings. 

76  4    "Abbeys  there  were,"  etc.  :    Cf.  Wordsworth,  Peter  Bell,  Part 

Second:  , 

Temples  like  those  among  the  Hindoos, 

And  mosques,  and  spires,  and  abbey  windows, 

And  castles  all  with  ivy  green. 

76  )7  The  Vosges  .  .  .  have  never  attracted  much  notice,  etc.  :  They 
came  into  like  prominence  after  De  Quincey's  day  in  the  Franco- Prussian 
War  of  1S70. 


NOTES  117 

76  31  Those  mysterious  fawns,  etc.  :  In  some  of  the  romances  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  especially  those  containing  Celtic  material,  a  knight,  while 
hunting,  is  led  by  his  pursuit  of  a  white  fawn  (or  a  white  stag  or  boar) 
to  a  fee  (i.e.  an  inhabitant  of  the  "  Happy  Other-world  ")  or  into  the 
confines  of  the  "  Happy  Other-world "  itself.  Sometimes,  as  in  the 
Guigemaroi  Marie  de  France,  the  knight  passes  on  to  a  series  of  adven- 
tures in  consequence  of  his  meeting  with  the  white  fawn.  I  owe  this 
note  to  the  kindness  of  Mr.  S.  W.  Kinney,  A.M.,  of  Baltimore. 

76  33  That  ancient  stag  :  See  Englische  Studien,  Vol.  V,  p.  16,  where 
additions  are  made  to  the  following  account  from  Hardwicke's  Tradi- 
tions, Superstitions,  and  Folk-Lore,  Manchester  and  London,  1872,  p.  154  : 

This  chasing  of  the  white  doe  or  the  white  hart  by  the  spectre  huntsman  has 
assumed  various  forms.  According  to  Aristotle  a  white  hart  was  killed  by 
Agathocles,  King  of  Sicily,  which  a  thousand  years  beforehand  had  been  conse- 
crated to  Diana  by  Diomedes.  Alexander  the  Great  is  said  by  Pliny  to  have 
caught  a  white  stag,  placed  a  collar  of  gold  about  its  neck,  and  afterwards  set  it 
free.  Succeeding  heroes  have  in  after  days  been  announced  as  the  capturers  of 
this  famous  white  hart.  Julius  Ca:sar  took  the  place  of  Alexander,  and  Charle- 
magne caught  a  white  hart  at  both  Magdeburg,  and  in  the  Holstein  woods.  In 
1 1 72  William  [Henry]  the  Lion  is  reported  to  have  accomplished  a  similar  feat, 
according  to  a  Latin  inscription  on  the  walls  of  Lubeck  Cathedral.  Tradition 
says  the  white  hart  has  been  caught  on  Rothwell  Hay  Common,  in  Yorkshire, 
and  in  Windsor  Forest. 

This  reference  I  owe  indirectly  to  Professor  J.  M.  Manly,  of  Chicago. 

77  4  Or,  being  upon  the  marches  of  France,  a  marquis :  Marquis  is 
derived  from  march,  and  was  originally  the  title  of  the  guardian  of  the 
frontier,  or  march. 

77  13  Agreed  with  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  that  a  good  deal  might  be 
said  on  both  sides :  This  expression,  as  has  been  pointed  out  to  me,  is 
from  the  middle  of  Spectator  No.  122,  where  Sir  Roger,  having  been 
appealed  to  on  a  question  of  fishing  privileges,  replied,  "  with  an  air  of 
a  man  who  would  not  give  his  judgment  rashly,  that  much  might  be  said 
on  both  sides."  It  is  likely,  however,  that  De  Quincey  may  have  con- 
nected it  in  his  mind  with  the  discussion  of  witchcraft  at  the  beginning 
of  Spectator  No.  117,  where  Addison  balances  the  grounds  for  belief 
and  unbelief  somewhat  as  De  Quincey  does  here. 

78  7  Bergereta :  a  very  late  Latin  form  of  PYench  bergcrette,  "a 
shepherdess." 

78  15  M.  Simond,  in  his  "  Travels  "  :  The  reference  is  to  Journal  of 
a  Tour  and  Residence  in  Great  Britain  during  the  years  1810  and 
1811,  by  Louis  Simond,  2d  ed.  (Edinburgh,   1817),  to  which  is  added 


Il8  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

an  appendix  on  France,  written  in  December,  1  Si 5,  and  October,  1816. 
De  Quincey  refers  to  this  story  with  horror  several  times,  but  such 
scenes  are  not  yet  wholly  unknown. 

79  21  A  Chevalier  of  St.  Louis  :  The  French  order  of  St.  Louis  was 
founded  by  Louis  XIV  in  1693  for  military  service.  After  its  discon- 
tinuance at  the  Revolution  this  order  was  reinstated  in  1814;  but  no 
knights  have  been  created  since  1830.  "Chevalier"  is  the  lowest  rank 
in  such  an  order;  it  is  here  erroneously  used  by  Ue  Quincey  as  a  title 
of  address. 

79  22  " Chevalier,  as-tu  donne,"  etc.  :  "Chevalier,  have  you  fed  the 
hog?"  "Ma  fille,"  etc.  :  "  My  daughter,  have  you,"  etc.  "Pucelle," 
etc. :  "  Maid  of  Orleans,  have  you  saved  the  lilies  (i.e.  France)?  " 

79  28  If  the  man  that  turnips  cries  :  Cf.  Johnsoniana,  ed.  R.  Napier, 
London,  1884,  where,  in  Anecdotes  of  Johnson,  by  Mrs.  Piozzi,  p.  29,  is 
found  :  "  'T  is  a  mere  play  of  words  (added  he)  "  —  Johnson  is  speak- 
ing of  certain  "  verses  by  Lopez  de  Vega  "  —  "  and  you  might  as  well 

say,  that 

"  If  the  man  who  turnips  cries, 

Cry  not  when  his  father  dies, 

'T  is  a  proof  that  he  had  rather 

Have  a  turnip  than  his  father." 

This  reference  is  given  in  Bartlett's  Familiar  Quotations. 

80  1  The  Oriflamme  of  France :  the  red  banner  of  St.  Denis,  pre- 
served in  the  abbey  of  that  name,  near  Paris,  and  borne  before  the 
French  king  as  a  consecrated  flag. 

80  22  Twenty  years  after,  talking  with  Southey :  In  1816  De  Quin- 
cey was  a  resident  of  Grasmere ;  Southey  lived  for  many  years  at 
Keswick,  a  few  miles  away;  they  met  first  in  1807.  For  De  Quincey's 
estimate  of  Southey's  Joan  of  Arc,  see  Works,  Riverside  ed.,  Vol.  VI, 
pp.  262-266;  Masson's  ed.,  Vol.  V,  pp.  23S-242. 

80  26    Chinon  is  a  little  town  near  Tours. 

81  3  She  "  pricks  "  for  sheriffs :  The  old  custom  was  to  prick  with 
a  pin  the  names  of  those  chosen  by  the  sovereign  for  sheriffs. 

82  9  Ampulla:  the  flask  containing  the  sacred  oil  used  at  corona- 
tions. 

82  in  The  English  boy:  Henry  VI  was  nine  months  old  when  he 
was  proclaimed  king  of  England  and  France  in  1422,  Charles  VI  of 
France,  and  Henry  V,  his  legal  heir,  having  both  died  in  that  year. 
Henry's  mother  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Charles  VI. 

82  in  Drawn  from  the  ovens  of  Rheims  :  Rheims,  where  the  kings  of 
France  were  crowned,  was  famous  for  its  biscuits  and  gingerbread. 


NOTES  ng 

82  26  Tindal's  "  Christianity  as  old  as  the  Creation  "  :  Matthew  Tindal 
( 1 657-1 732)  published  this  work  in  1732  ;  its  greatest  interest  lies  in  the 
fact  that  to  this  book  more  than  to  any  other  Butler's  Analogy  was  a 
reply.  Tindal's  argument  was  that  natural  religion,  as  taught  by  the 
deists,  was  complete ;  that  no  revelation  was  necessary.  A  life  accord- 
ing to  nature  is  all  that  the  best  religion  can  teach.  Such  doctrine  as 
this  Joan  preached  in  the  speech  ascribed  to  her. 

82  27  A  parte  ante:  "from  the  part  gone  before";  Joan's  speech 
being  three  centuries  earlier  than  the  book  from  which  it  was  taken. 

83  9  That  divine  passage  in  "Paradise  Regained":  from  Book  I, 
11.  196-205. 

84  34  Patay  is  near  Orleans ;  Troyes  was  the  capital  of  the  old 
province  of  Champagne. 

86  25  "Nolebat,"  etc.  :  "She  would  not  use  her  sword  or  kill  any 
one." 

87  24  Made  prisoner  by  the  Burgundians  :  The  English  have  accused 
the  French  officers  of  conniving  at  Joan's  capture  through  jealousy  of 
her  successes.     Compiegne  is  fifty  miles  northeast  of  Paris. 

87  27  Bishop  of  Beauvais :  Beauvais  is  forty-three  miles  northwest 
of  Paris,  in  Normandy.  This  bishop,  Pierre  Cauchon,  rector  of  the 
University  at  Paris,  was  devoted  to  the  English  party. 

87  :so  "Bishop  that  art,"  etc.:  Cf.  Shakespeare's  Macbeth,  Act  I, 
sc.  v,  1.  13. 

87  33  A  triple  crown  :  The  papacy  is  meant,  of  course.  The  pope's 
tiara  is  a  tall  cap  of  golden  cloth,  encircled  by  three  coronets. 

88  17  Judges  examining  the  prisoner:  The  judge  in  France  ques- 
tions a  prisoner  minutely  when  he  is  first  taken,  before  he  is  remanded 
for  trial.  De  Quincey  displays  here  his  inveterate  prejudice  against  the 
French  ;  but  this  practice  is  widely  regarded  as  the  vital  error  of  French 
criminal  procedure. 

89  5  A  wretched  Dominican :  a  member  of  the  order  of  mendicant 
friars  established  in  France  by  Domingo  de  Guzman  in  1216.  Their 
official  name  was  Fratres  Predicatores,  "  Preaching  Friars,"  and  their 
chief  objects  were  preaching  and  instruction.  Their  influence  was  very 
great  until  the  rise  of  the  Jesuit  order  in  the  sixteenth  century.  The 
Dominicans  Le  Maitre  and  Graverent  (the  Grand  Inquisitor)  both  took 
part  in  the  prosecution. 

89  31    For  a  less  cause  than  martyrdom  :  Cf.  Genesis  ii.  24. 

91  14  From  the  four  winds:  There  may  be  a  reminiscence  here  of 
Ezekiel  xxxvii.  1-10,  especially  verse  9:  "  Come  from  the  four  winds, 
O  breath,  and  breathe  upon  these  slain,  that  they  may  live." 


120  SELECTIONS  FROM  DE    QUINCE Y 

91  30   Luxor.     See  note  13  27. 

92  15  Daughter  of  Caesars :  She  was  the  daughter  of  the  German 
emperor,  Francis  I,  whose  sovereignty,  as  the  name  "  Holy  Roman 
Empire  "  shows,  was  supposed  to  continue  that  of  the  ancient  Roman 
emperors. 

92  17  Charlotte  Corday  (1768-93)  murdered  the  revolutionist  Marat 
in  the  belief  that  the  good  of  France  required  it ;  two  days  later  she 
paid  the  penalty,  as  she  had  expected,  with  her  life. 

93  18  Grafton,  a  chronicler:  Richard  Grafton  died  about  1572.  He 
was  printer  to  Edward  VI.     His  chronicle  was  published  in  1569. 

93  20    "  Foule  face  "  :  Foule  formerly  meant  "  ugly. " 

93  21  Holinshead  :  Raphael  Holinshed  died  about  15S0.  His  great 
work,  Chronicles  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  was  used  by  Shake- 
speare as  the  source  of  several  plays.  He  writes  of  Joan  :  "Of  favor 
[appearance]  was  she  counted  likesome  ;  of  person  stronglie  made,  and 
manlie ;  of  courage,  great,  hardie,  and  stout  withall." 

94  (footnote)  Satanic:  This  epithet  was  applied  to  the  work  of 
some  of  his  contemporaries  by  Southey  in  the  preface  to  his  Vision  of 
Judgement,  182 1.  It  has  been  generally  assumed  that  Byron  and  Shelley 
are  meant.  See  Introduction  to  Byron's  Vision  of  Judgment  in  the  new 
Murray  edition  of  Byron,  Vol.  IV. 

96  (footnote)  Burgoo  :  a  thick  oatmeal  gruel  or  porridge  used  by  sea- 
men. According  to  the  New  English  Dictionary  the  derivation  is  un- 
known;  but  in  the  Athenceum,  Oct.  6,  188S,  quoted  by  Hart,  the  word  is 
explained  as  a  corruption  of  Arabic  burghul. 

101  30  English  Prince,  Regent  of  France :  John,  Duke  of  Bedford, 
uncle  of  Henry  VI.  "  In  genius  for  war  as  in  political  capacity,"  says 
J.  R.  Green,  "  John  was  hardly  inferior  to  Henry  [the  Fifth,  his  brother] 
himself"  (A  History  of  the  English  People,  Book  IV,  Chap.  VI). 

101  31  My  Lord  of  Winchester:  Henry  Beaufort,  Bishop  of  Win- 
chester, half-brother  of  Henry  IV.  lie  was  the  most  prominent  Eng- 
lish prelate  of  his  time  and  was  the  only  Englishman  in  the  Court  that 
condemned  Joan.  As  to  the  story  of  his  death,  to  which  De  Quincey 
alludes,  see  Shakespeare,  2  Henry  VI,  Act  III,  sc.  iii.  Beaufort  became 
cardinal  in  1426. 

102  17  Who  is  this  that  cometh  from  Domremy?  This  is  an  evident 
imitation  of  the  famous  passage  from  Isaiah  lxiii.  1  :  "  Who  is  this 
that  cometh  from  Edom,  with  dyed  garments  from  Bozrah  ?"  "  Bloody 
coronation  robes"  is  rather  obscure,  but  probably  refers  to  the  fact 
that  Joan  had  shed  her  own  blood  to  bring  about  the  coronation  of 


NOTES  121 

her  sovereign ;  she  is  supposed  to  have  appeared  in  armor  at  the  actual 
coronation  ceremony,  and  this  armor  might  with  reason  be  imagined  as 
"  bloody." 

102  22  She  .  .  .  shall  take  my  lord's  brief  :  that  is,  she  shall  act 
as  the  bishop's  counsel.  In  the  case  of  Beauvais,  as  in  that  of  Win- 
chester, it  must  be  remembered  that  in  all  monarchical  countries  the 
bishops  are  "  lords  spiritual,"  on  an  equality  with  the  greater  secular 
nobles,  the  "  lords  temporal." 


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